


make evil afraid of evil's shadow

by queensansaitn



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (not anyone we love!!!), F/F, I just want them to be happy, Minor Character Death, Queen Sansa, Slow Burn, mainly fluff with maybe the tiniest bit of angst, my queens of ice and fire being badass girlfriends, sansa + dany + justice, stark family feels!, will add more tags as I write, y'all it is So Gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-05-17 23:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14841461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queensansaitn/pseuds/queensansaitn
Summary: The people would sing songs of them, these cruel queens; but they weren't cruel, not really. They were full of love. But they could be relentless, merciless, if they had to be.or: Sansa and Dany burn the men who have hurt them, together.





	1. the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> warning: i have not written a fic in a billion years so this may not be The Best! title is from "January 10th, 2014" by The World is a Beautiful Place and I Am No Longer Afraid to Die

The war ended slowly. The Night’s King burned, and the whole realm waited with baited breath to see what Daenerys Targaryen would do, the Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains. “Conqueror”, the Lords and Ladies called her; the smallfolk, “Savior”. And Daenerys, of course, lived up to the whispers. What else could she do but go on, conquering the pompous Lords and saving the ever grateful smallfolk?

 

In the beginning, she would walk the streets of King’s Landing every evening, in spite of Tyrion and Missandei’s warnings. There were some who threw themselves at her feet, thanking her and begging her for food or drink or clothes (the next night she made sure to bring bread and water and cloth); there were others who threw things at her, rotten vegetables and other disgusting things a queen should not name. She was not entirely surprised - of course many would see her as a usurper, a foreign invader, coming to wreak even more havoc on their homes and their families when they had already lost so much. Slowly, though, even those with the most vitriol mouths, the most hatred in their eyes - they too became thankful when they saw that their queen was not giving up on them. Above all else, there were tears. So many tears Dany thought she might just drown in them. She had never seen so many tears, not even in Meeren.

 

Painstakingly, she did her best to right the wrongs of previous false and cruel kings. Though she worked tirelessly, and gave everything she thought she could spare; her people did not love her yet. The North loved her least of all, regardless of how she tried to placate them. Her newfound nephew cautioned her to leave the North well enough alone, and - not wanting to have to squash a rebellion so soon into her reign - she allowed the North to remain an independent kingdom; with conditions, of course. Jon Snow would no longer be King in the North (though she suspected he was okay with that, sullen and solitary as he was), but would instead be her heir apparent, and any daughters he may have, heirs after him. His sister-cousin, the illustrious Sansa Stark, formidable as the frozen North itself, would be crowned its Queen.

 

From whispers she had heard from Tyrion, Dany knew the North had not seen a celebration with any true gaiety since before their beloved Warden was murdered by the Lannisters. From Jon, she knew how dearly Sansa had loved feasts and parties when she was a girl - and so Daenerys Stormborn the Conqueror has found a new conquest: give Sansa Stark the coronation she deserves.

 

And if perhaps Dany has a selfish motive or two, who could judge her? Being a queen is a lonely affair. For she loves Missandei so dearly, she cannot deny her anything, nor begrudge her for the happiness she is finding with Grey Worm. So of course the Queen of the Six Kingdoms is achingly lonely, and even from the little she has seen of her, Dany thinks she has seen that same loneliness in Sansa Stark as plainly as if she were looking in a mirror.

 

*

 

Preparations were hellacious at best. If Dany had any illusions she would have some time alone with the Queen in the North, they were just that: illusions. Sansa did not go anywhere without her sister-shadow. Arya Stark, arguably the most terrifying person Dany had ever encountered, and she had faced and commanded ruthless Dothraki horse lords when she was little more than a child.

 

Not to say that she was cruel or cold. On the contrary, Arya and her sister laughed often; but her protectiveness was unlike anything she had ever seen before. She had thought the stories of Starks of Winter’s past who could turn into wolves were just that, songs sung by drunken soldiers in brothels and inns. How foolish of her. Isn't she a dragon? Why should these Starks not be wolves? How could she even presume to doubt that Arya would rip her throat out if she even appeared to threaten her sister? It was wonderful and heartbreaking seeing their love, their fierce loyalty.

 

So these are wolves in spring, she thought, as Arya made a crude joke under her breath about Lord Baelish and needles and where she’d like to stick one, and her sister responded with a slight quirk of her lips before seeming to remember where she was, and who she was with. Daenerys had to stifle a sigh. She so desperately wished Sansa would relax in her presence, even slightly, just enough to slouch down in her chair as they embroider by the fire or to rest an elbow on the table while they deliberate over what flowers are blooming this time of year or who they can and cannot invite. She has to be exhausted, constantly, Dany can only imagine. She wishes there were something more between them than just mutual politeness, perhaps a sense of camaraderie between two young queens; then she would able to take Sansa’s hands in hers and tell her that relaxation, comfort, breathing - that is not weakness. Nothing she has done, or may ever do, could be weakness. Anybody who has ever made her believe differently can hang. Should hang, or mayhaps even lose their heads for it.

 

But, Dany knows she cannot just grab the eldest Stark’s hands and start wishing death on anyone who has ever harmed her. While the North would no doubt love the tale that some servant or other would be sure to spin - the Dragon Queen gone mad! Did you hear how she attacked the Queen in the North? - it would only scare her fellow (soon-to-be) Queen, pushing her even further away. The songs and stories paint her as impatient and foolhardy, rushing forward to take the throne with fire and blood at the barest hint of unrest in Westeros, but the songs and stories never tell the whole truth. Daenerys has spent her whole life waiting. She can be patient, achingly so, when it is important - and Sansa Stark is so, so important.


	2. blue winter roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a lil sansa POV because I love my obviously gay ice queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so so so so so so much for commenting and kudos-ing and bookmarking!!! you all are angels and I am giving you a big internet smooch!!!
> 
> I'm not the best at dialogue so uh....I'm sorry
> 
> also littlefinger is still alive for ~ Plot Reasons ~, he fled back to the eyrie after BotB to hide away and plot and just generally be slimy and gross!

Sansa was, to mimic Arya, _fucking exhausted_ . Perhaps as the Queen, or soon-to-be, she should have the right to a nap every now and again? She could hear her mother’s exasperated sigh as clearly as if Lady Catelyn Stark, in all her soft and regal glory, were right next to her. _“A true Lady would never shirk her duties for a quick nap, Sansa.”_

 

Oh, how she missed her mother. Sansa wonders if Mother is truly watching down on her like Petyr said that time he found her crying in the pantry, or if that was just another in the long line of platitudes men who saw her as weak felt they had the right to bestow upon her. She wonders if she is proud of her, what she thinks of her ruling the North instead of her bastard brother (not bastard anymore though, not ever, truly), if she thinks it is wise to be as cold as she is to Queen Daenerys, if she is safe enough now for friendship, if she is safe enough now for anything at all. Above all else, Sansa wished that Mother could braid her hair; that she was a girl in summer again, padding across the sleeping castle in her bare feet to slip into Mother and Father’s chambers, to snuggle herself right in between them, knowing they would never mind, never be angry with her.

 

And Father - her gentle, too kind and honest for politics father - does he know how sorry she is? She could have done more. She _should have_ done more. Arya has forgiven her, apologized, made up for it tenfold; but she was right to be angry. She was right to blame Sansa. Her heart aches with the pain of remembering.

 

There is a hesitant knock at her door - a tentative _my queen?_ _It is time for your meeting with the Queen Daenerys._ Sweet Brienne, her fearless Lady Knight, whom loves Sansa and never demands anything of her. Sometimes Sansa, selfish in the early morning before the sun has even broken over the horizon, wishes she, Arya, and Brienne could steal away into the night and go deep into the Northern Woods, live like true wild women. Sometimes she doesn’t want any part of this life. But, she is a Stark, and Starks endure. She wipes the tears from her face, gathers her skirts in her shaking hands, gathers herself - a true Winter Queen once more, hard as ice and ready to take on whatever comes her way.

 

*

 

Daenerys is sitting by the window when Sansa enters the room, and she cannot help but notice how beautiful she looks. Of course she knew Daenerys Targaryen was beautiful, only a fool would be so blind as to not know, but it still can be shocking. Jarring, even. The spring sun makes her hair look like snow, makes her eyes glow. An errant thought passes through before she can catch it - _this is what a true queen of ice looks like._ Sansa snatches that thought from the air and tucks it away where she tucks away all unruly thoughts; for safekeeping until she can analyze it over and over this evening while she sits by the fire in her chambers.

 

Sansa is jolted out of her reverie by Arya elbowing her in the back.

 

“Pardon me, my queen, but I haven’t got all day.” Arya is smiling her smile that says _I know something you don’t know._

 

Sansa returns her insufferable sister’s smile, the one that says _you think you’re so clever, don’t you?_ and takes the seat farthest from Queen Daenerys.

 

Arya folds herself into the corner, something Sansa has told her countless times she really does not have to do, that she is more than welcome to sit at the table, voice her opinions. Sansa should not have been so amused by Arya’s _oh, I know, I just like to unnerve the Unshakeable Dragon Queen,_ but Arya has changed so much from when they were girls that any sign of the old Arya, the one she pretended to hate, is sweeter than any lemon cake she’s ever tasted.

 

Today, they are going over floral arrangements; Sansa playing at being indifferent, while truly she hasn’t been this excited about planning a feast since Bran’s seventh nameday. Sansa has visions of the whole castle draped in blue winter roses, something she has dreamed of for as long as she can remember. When she closes her eyes she can see it - the walls of the castle covered in blue, the ceilings, the tables; crowns of flowers in everybody’s hair. It would be so beautiful.

 

“I don’t see why the Queen in the North should not have exactly the coronation she wishes. Who should you like to send to pick these winter roses of yours?” Polite kindness seemed to underlie Daenerys’ every word.

 

Arya began to speak up from her corner; but Sansa, not knowing what possessed her to do so, cut her off.

 

“I will go.”

 

Arya snorted at her garish lack of decorum, while Daenerys’ eyes twinkled.

 

“Wonderful. I will go with you.”

 

Sansa and Arya both turned to Daenerys in shock, while she just looked serenely back at them, that same peculiar expression on her face she always wears in Sansa’s presence.

 

“I would like to see the North in spring,” she said.

  
Sansa feels her heart begin to warm toward this tiny, foreign queen. After all, Jon trusts her, and while typically she’d laugh off his faith with a _you trust everybody, Jon, and look where it’s gotten you;_ Daenerys seems to have a good heart. How could someone who glows in the spring sun like that ever do anything to hurt her? She resolutely squashed her own traitorous voice in her head - _Cersei Lannister was beautiful, and glowing, and look what she did to you. To your family. Look what trusting queens has done for you in the past. Don’t be stupid, Sansa._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr at queensansa-itn!


	3. bread and mulled wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little arya pov because i just love her so much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SO SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!! i've just been extremely busy because even though it's pride month the universe refuses to cut a bitch some slack!! thank u for being so patient w/ me and for all of your love!!! <3

When Arya finally made her way back home to Winterfell, there was barely any of her left. Being surrounded by her family - and Ghost - has helped, especially her newfound bond with Sansa, but there are still times when she forgets her name, her face, who she is and why she’s here. She is quick to jump, to act; easily spooked, sometimes fleeing into the woods for a fortnight and returning to the castle dirty and bloody and mute, offering no explanations to anyone, not even Sansa.

  
Sparring with Brienne helps her as well. Fierce Brienne, the Lady Knight, her sister’s sworn shield, the only person left in the castle who isn’t afraid to fight with her, besides Jon. When she first arrived she challenged every man in the castle to a duel - any man who lost to her was not fit to protect her family, their Queen, and he was sent away. After they went from one hundred fighting men to only a handful in less than a moon’s turn, Sansa was forced to put an end to it. The fight that ensued was quite possibly their biggest yet, the two of them screaming at the other in Sansa’s chambers well into the night until finally Jon pulled a fuming Arya from the room and told her - in the way only a big brother can - to leave the castle until she had cooled off. 

 

After Arya returned the next evening, the two of them were nearly inseparable from that point on, not ever speaking of it again - because they didn’t need to. Sansa understood Arya’s seemingly mad antics for the fierce protectiveness they truly were now, and Arya understood Sansa’s need for calm, knows how hard it was for her all alone in the Capital, everything loud and bright and deadly.

 

Now, Arya may not have had much experience in the romance department (besides Gendry, but she can’t afford to think about him right now), but she knows a besotted fool when she sees one and Daenerys may be the Queen of the Six Kingdoms but she, too, is no exception. How her sister, the smartest person Arya had ever known, somehow cannot see it is just simply beyond her - but far be it from Arya to help her. No, the shadow of Winterfell will just watch the whole thing play out from afar for a good chuckle, describing it all the while to the Gendry she’s kept in her head. 

 

*

 

They are sitting by the fire, Arya twirling Long Claw around and around and around, Sansa embroidering, Ghost snoozing at their feet - a picture of familial bliss, if only Sansa wasn’t letting out long-suffering sighs every ten minutes or so. Finally, Arya could not stand it anymore.

 

“What is it, Your Royal Highness?” She snapped.

“Arya! Do not call me that.” Sansa replied, “and what are you talking about?”

“You, disturbing my peace over there thinking so loudly the whole castle can probably hear you!” 

Sansa pursed her lips, “I am only pondering over what Queen Daenerys said yesterday, about wanting to go pick the roses with me.”

Now it was Arya’s turn to sigh, “Yes? And?” 

“Why would she want to do that? Don’t you think it seems a tad bit suspicious? She could be planning something - I know Tyrion cares for me, but he is too cunning and clever for his own good, and he did shun his entire family to pledge his loyalty to her.”   
Arya let out a bark of laughter, startling Ghost from his nap. 

“Are you trying to tell me that you genuinely believe Daenerys and Tyrion are  _ plotting against you _ ? Maybe you aren’t as sharp as I thought.”

Sansa put her embroidery down, turning to give Arya her full attention.

“There is no need to be rude, Arya. I am simply being cautious.” 

“I did not know cautious was now another word for naive - should I write the citadel? Inform the maesters of this new evolution in language?”

“I- naive? How am I possibly being naive?”

“Oh, my sweet sister, I’m not going to tell you that. You and your big brain will figure it out soon enough. Hopefully.”    
With that, Arya got up and left the room, leaving her oh-so-witty sister for once stunned into silence, laughing her way to the kitchens to steal what ever was leftover from dinner.

Arya did her best to stifle her laughter when she turned the corner and saw the very woman herself pacing back and forth; turning to walk toward Sansa’s chambers, walking two steps, and then turning back around. 

 

“Queen Daenerys? Is everything alright?” Arya never know it was possible for someone’s eyes to go so wide.

“Oh my - Lady Arya! Yes! Everything is perfectly alright, just on a little nightly stroll around the castle, you know, I am just finding it a little hard to sleep tonight.”

“Ah, I see. Well, my Queen, would you like to follow me to the kitchens? I’ve always found that some leftover bread and mulled wine always helps on sleepless nights. Plus, we have much to discuss.”

“Oh - of course, Lady Arya, it would be my pleasure.”

 

They wandered the rest of the way to the kitchens in an awkward silence, Arya finding it hard to bite her tongue, Daenerys casting furtive glances her way. After what seemed like years of walking, they reached the kitchens. Arya held the door open for the tiny Mother of Dragons, the picture of respect, but the second the door to the kitchens had shut, Arya whirled on Daenerys.

 

“So,” she asked, “what are your intentions with my sister?”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you guys like reading the most? Not every chapter after like 5 or 6 is gonna be a different person’s POV, I just want to get a few different POVs to really flesh out the story. Do you guys prefer each chapter switching POVs? Should it mainly be Sansa and Dany POVs? Lemme know <3


	4. a confession of sorts, and a dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The walk to dinner felt as if she were walking to war, which she knows is ludicrous, because has truly walked right into a war - yet she felt less fear then than she does now. If Dany had to choose between facing down the Night's King again or facing a beautiful woman she suspected she was falling in love with, she would choose the Night's King every time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhh thank you so much for all of your patience and love!!!!!!!!! this baby is a doozy, roughly 2,200 words, plz accept my apology in taking 30 years to update!!!
> 
> also I am really just cherry picking from canon, so some things I've kept and others I've completely disregarded. jon still went to dragonstone but he was uhh actually smart about it lmao and him and dany became Bros because in my head jon is the Biggest Lesbian Ally Ever. boatbang never happened (obvs, She's Gay Dude), and neither did the wight hunt. the wall still fell for....evil night's king reasons. jon rode rhaegal and dany rode drogon and they (& viserion!) burned that binch to a crisp and then went to kings landing and did the same to cersei and jaime. jon was always talking about how great and smart sansa was and dany decided that she 1) had to meet the Woman of her Dreams and 2) crown her queen in the north STAT. they learned about his true parentage there from a raven from bran & sam, which is partly why they scurried their asses back to winterfell. 
> 
> I think I've covered most everything that's relevant at the moment but PLEASE please please let me know if anything doesn't make sense!!!

So,” she asked, “what are your intentions with my sister?”

“I’m - pardon?”   
“I may not know much about romance, Queen Daenerys, but I am not blind. I can see the way you look at my sister.”   
“Lady Arya, I have no idea…”   
“There is no need to play coy. I would be the last person to brook any sort of opposition; as much as we bicker, I do just want more than anything for Sansa to be happy. But I have to tell you, winning her heart will not be easy; she is terrified of love. Her stories are not mine to tell so I will not say much, but courtship and marriage have always ended terribly for her. So - be gentle with her, please.”   
Her words came out stilted and a little awkward, but full of heart. With one last look at Dany, Arya turned on her heel and slipped out of the kitchen. 

 

*

 

“Tyrion, please. You must tell me everything you remember of the Lady Sansa.”

Her little lion, clever as ever, smirked -

“Why, Your Grace, are you asking me as your friend, or demanding me as my queen?”

Tyrion was sure that if Daenerys could breathe fire like her children, she would have burned him where he stood.

“I do not have time for your games, Tyrion. I am not in the mood, so please just tell me before I get the idea in my head to leave you with my boys. I’m sure they must be hungry.”   
Tyrion just laughed and poured himself another glass of wine.

“Alright, Daenerys. As my Queen commands.”

 

“When I first met the young Lady Stark I was drunk - shocking, I know - so I regret to inform you I do not remember much. She was the picture of a perfect lady - loved sitting with her septa, needlework, and fawning after my sister and her insufferable little monster.”

Tyrion paused to take a swig from his goblet.

“She was always quiet, you see, but her quietness seemed to change into something more sorrowful after they killed her wolf.”   
Daenerys stifled a gasp - she could barely even begin to imagine that pain. 

“When Lady died, something in Sansa died with her. She became even more pliant, putty in the hands of the court, a plaything for my family. She was, for all intents and purposes, nothing. A silly, meak girl. The night of our wedding I saw something in her, though, something that told me she would bring herself to kill me if she had to.” Tyrion stops and laughs. “After that we were friends for a short time, but then - well, you’ve heard the tale of the Red Wedding. She shunned me after that. I do not blame her - all Lannisters were monsters in her eyes, even the most disgraced and unloved.”

“And now?” Dany prompts, “How you do think she feels  _ now  _ about houses that have betrayed her family?” 

“Daenerys… I do not think this a wise conversation to continue. At least not tonight.”   
“Tyrion  _ please _ ! You don’t understand.” Dany must have looked as desperate as she felt, for it took him barely a breath to give in.

“Very well, my Queen. I think…” She could tell that her most trusted advisor was trying to choose his words carefully, a first in many moons. If it were any other night, and she were in any other mood, she would have laughed. “I think Sansa is wiser than all of the First Men put together. She knows children are not responsible for the sins of their fathers, even when that father happens to be Tywin Lannister… Or Aerys Targaryen.” At that, Daenerys knew her secret was not as well-kept as she thought. 

“Oh, Tyrion. What am I going to do?”

Tyrion placed his hand over hers and said, not unkindly, “Wait. That is all you can do.”

 

*

 

The next morning, Daenerys woke feeling worse than she had since before she left Kings Landing. She had tossed and turned all night, over analyzing every interaction - even the tiniest ones - she had had with Sansa upon her arrival in the North. After further thought it was not all that surprising that Tyrion could tell, he did know her best after all, but that Arya had caught on was worrisome. If her sister knew, did that mean she knew as well? Had they spent late nights laughing around the fire, jibing about how foolish and presumptuous the foreign queen is? 

 

Daenerys knew this was a path she shouldn’t allow her thoughts to take, it would only lead to more pain and stress, but she could not turn her brain off. She had finally fallen into a fitful sleep when the sun broke over the horizon, shutting her eyes for only a couple hours at most. 

 

*

 

She dressed and braided her hair, opting for more muted greys and browns (gifts from Sansa, the picture of perfect hospitality), twisting all of her many braids into one long braid down her back. Shortly after she heard a sharp knock at her door. Expecting Tyrion, to say she was surprised to see the Queen in the North herself would be an understatement. Dany began to fear for the worst - though Sansa’s icy gaze gave nothing away, she could not keep her own thoughts from running away from her. 

 

“Good morning, your Grace. I apologize, but I will not be able to join you today in planning of the coronation.” Dany noted that Sansa referred to her upcoming coronation not as  _ her _ coronation, but  _ the _ coronation. “My brother Bran has fallen slightly ill and while Maester Tarly is more than capable, I am afraid I cannot help but fret. I would feel better if I were there to sit by his side.”

“Of course, Lady Sansa. There is no need to apologize. Family should always come first.” Dany finally breathed out after a beat.

“I thank you for your kindness and understanding, your Grace.” Sansa’s eyes seemed to twinkle at the mention of family. “If you do not have other affairs to attend to, it would be our pleasure to have you join us for supper in the Great Hall.”

“I would be delighted, my Lady.”   
“Wonderful. I look forward to seeing you and Lord Tyrion this evening.” Sansa seemed to float away, leaving Daenerys gaping after her in what she was sure was a very embarrassing imitation of a fish - which is how Tyrion found her.

 

“Why, my Queen, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost… or a Lady.” Tyrion japed, causing Dany to promptly snap her mouth shut and turn to look at the little Lannister with what she hoped was a look of Queenly solemnity. 

“The Lady Sansa would like us to join her and her family in the Great Hall for supper this evening. Do try not to be late.” 

Tyrion just laughed. “You wound me, Daenerys. I would never be late to what I am sure will be one of the most entertaining dinners of my life. Nice Northern look, by the way. Do you think Sansa took notice?”

Daenerys heaved a sigh, which she has come to recognize as her ‘Tyrion-weary’ sigh. “Do shut up, Tyrion.”

 

*

 

Daenerys tried to keep her mind busy by going over some of the missives Missandei had sent her from King’s Landing, various sundry things that needed her signature more than anything else. She flew through those in what seemed like minutes, only truly taking her time with Missandei’s letter she had written to her personally. Dany did not realize how much she missed her dearest friend until now. Tears pricked her eyes as she thought about all of the things she wished to say to her but feared to in a letter. What advice would she have for her? Would she think Dany just another Targaryen who has lost their head over a beautiful Stark maiden? Or would Missandei tell her to go for it, to follow her heart and take the leap the way she did with Grey Worm? Her heart hurts to think of it, how lonely and out of her depths she is so far away from home in the frozen North. 

 

Dany was so lost in thought she barely heard the knocking on her door. She felt so utterly miserable she had half a mind to shout at whoever was waiting for her to go away.

“Your Grace? It is time to head down to the Great Hall for supper.” Tyrion sounded slightly subdued, as if he could hear her anguish through the door and was trying to be as respectful and gentle as possible. 

“Just a moment, Tyrion, I will be right there.” Dany tried to rally herself, repeating over and over in her head that she would not be alone, that Tyrion would be there with her and he would (hopefully) save her from saying or doing anything too revealing. 

 

The walk to dinner felt as if she were walking to war, which she knows is ludicrous, because she has  _ truly  _ walked right into a war - yet she felt less fear then than she does now. If Dany had to choose between facing down the Night’s King again or facing a beautiful woman she suspected she was falling in love with, she would choose the Night’s King everytime. 

 

*

 

The Starks were already seated when her and Tyrion arrived, though Arya, Sansa, and Jon stood upon her arrival. Dany noticed Bran was seated at the table as well, and she let out a breath she did not realize she had been holding. If he was well enough to come to dinner, surely his illness was not anything serious - Dany wanted desperately for Sansa to not lose any more of her family than she already had.

“Aunt. I am so pleased you could sup with us this evening.” Dany had no doubt his words were genuine. Jon seemed happier than she had ever seen him; returning to his home, to his family, has surely lightened his spirit. 

“Thank you, nephew. I am pleased as well. My apologies for being late, I lost track of time.” 

“There is no need to apologize, Your Grace. You were not late, we were merely early.” Sansa gave her a small, polite smile. Something in Dany’s stomach began doing somersaults. “Please, sit. The food should be brought out any moment now. I apologize, it is no feast, as we are still trying to replenish our crops and farms.” 

“Nonsense.” Dany hoped her smile seemed warm and true and not as wobbly as she felt. “Your generosity in feeding every man, woman, and child is what helped us win the war and survive the Winter. There is no need to apologize for the toll that has taken on your kitchens.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Dany thought that perhaps Lady Stark seemed pleased with her praise, though it could just as well have been wishful thinking.

 

Dany felt herself relax, albeit minutely, when the food was brought out and she could focus on eating instead of making a complete fool out of herself with her pining. As she is wont to do these days, Daenerys found herself lost in thought - that is, until a snort from the other end of the table caught her attention. 

Sansa sighed. “Jon, Arya,  _ please _ stop behaving like children. We have  _ guests _ .” Even addressing just her siblings, she sounded every inch a Queen. 

“My apologies, my lady.” Arya coughed weakly to cover up her laughter. Daenerys felt something in her heart warm at the look Arya and Jon gave each other, a look that said “how best can we annoy our prim and proper sister?”  _ He may be only their cousin by blood, but he is their brother by love,  _ she thought to herself. 

 

“Aunt Daenerys, I hear you and Sansa are venturing out to pick blue winter roses for her coronation on the morrow?” Dany’s heart warmed even more at the ease with which Jon included her in his little family. 

“That is correct, nephew.” 

“Why do you ask, Jon? Wondering if they will pick extra so Sansa can weave you a flower crown for your pretty girl’s curls?” Arya spoke with all of the brashness of a man far in his cups, and it amused Daenerys far more than it offended her. 

“Arya!” Jon and Sansa snapped in unison, which only served to make the youngest Stark girl laugh harder.

“Your Grace, my apologies for my little sister, she can be quite the menace.” Sansa sounded so truly remorseful Daenerys felt that she would do anything, say anything, to make her feel better.

Instead, she just laughed. “It is quite alright, Lady Sansa. It is good to see true happiness; Gods know you all deserve it.”

Arya brightened at her words. “ _ See, _ sister? No harm, no foul. Our Queen has not been offended.”

“Speak for yourself! My aunt may not have been offended, but I certainly am!” If Jon were younger, Dany would say he was positively whining. As it is, he is definitely not  _ not _ whining, a grown man he may be. 

“Why, nephew, I dare say you would look quite fetching with a crown of flowers.” Dany could not help but join in on the joke; she felt lighter than she had in days. 

Jon just groaned. “Enough talk of my hair and flowers or I will sheer all of my ‘pretty curls’ clean off.”

Arya, Sansa, Tyrion, and even Bran all burst into laughter at that; and Dany couldn’t help but join in, her previous loneliness forgotten for the evening. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: winter rose picking! fluffy awkwardness ensues! 
> 
> you can find me on tumblr at queensansa-itn


	5. flower picking in the snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa returned to where she was carefully picking roses, and thought of her hand, and how she could feel the warmth of the other Queen's even through both of their gloves. It was not an unpleasant thought, nor feeling, but it was a foreign one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy the gay winter rose picking outing is finally here!!!! this was one of my favorite chapters to write!!!! i hope y'all like it, all the smooches in the world!!!!! <3

Sansa was, inexplicably, nervous. It is not that she fears any harm is going to befall her; the North loves her, and Brienne will of course be with them. No; it is a different kind of nervousness, one she hasn’t felt since Kings Landing, so many years ago when Shae had told her that Maergery wanted her to have tea with her and her grandmother that afternoon. Her stomach is in knots the same way it was back then, and Sansa feels like a silly little girl of four and ten, not a woman grown about to be crowned Queen in the North. 

 

She is fretting over her hair, her dress, her cloak, worrying herself into a frenzy, when her sister makes herself known. 

 

“You should wear your hair like Mother used to. It suits you, Lady Stark.” There was a smirk in her voice, but when Sansa met Arya’s eyes in the mirror, her gaze was soft. 

 

Sansa smiled at her little sister. “Will you help me? I can never pin it well enough. The braids always end up coming undone.”

 

“Of course,  _ Your Grace _ . I wouldn’t want you to look a mess on your little date with the Dragon Queen.” Sansa could see the expression on her sister’s face without having to even look at her.

 

“It’s not a  _ date _ , Arya. I am not trying to  _ court _ the Queen, nor she me. Why would you say such a thing?” 

 

Arya just snorted. “Whatever you say, sweet sister.” She kissed the crown of Sansa’s head. “All done! May I just say that you look simply resplendent, my Queen.”

 

“Go!” Sansa said, but she was laughing. “Go before I banish you from my castle, you little menace.”

 

*

 

Sansa cannot stop thinking about Arya’s words as she makes her way down to the courtyard to meet Brienne and Daenerys. When she arrives, the tiny silver Queen is already there, speaking with her Lady Knight. Sansa felt her face flush at her lateness. She could almost hear her Septa’s voice in her ear, scolding her for her un-ladylike behavior. 

 

“My apologies for my tardiness, Your Grace, Brienne.” She felt well and truly chagrined, but tried to keep it out of her voice - it would do her no favors to sound like a child on top of being late. Brienne and Daenerys both smiled at her, in varying degrees of affection and politeness.

 

“There is no need to apologize, Lady Stark. I only wanted to make up for my being late to supper the previous evening.” 

 

Sansa nodded, a small smile quirking her lips up. “Well, it seems that we are even, then.” 

 

“Shall we get going, Your Graces?” Brienne sounded amused at the two Queens’ antics.

 

Podrick, Brienne’s bumbling and loyal squire, ran to get the mounting block, but Daenerys was already swinging her leg up and over the white horse Sansa had selected for the Queen for their journey. Daenerys laughed lightly.

 

“Sorry, I have gotten so used to my dragons that I tend to forget about Queenly propriety when it comes to mounting animals.” 

 

“That is quite alright, Your Grace. It is good to throw propriety to the wind, every once in a while.” Sansa shocked herself with her words. Even Brienne looked a bit taken aback, as Sansa is never not a perfect Lady in the presence of those she does not know well. Daenerys, though, she just looked pleased. 

 

*

 

They had been at it for quite a bit now, and Sansa had noticed that the Dragon Queen was getting increasingly frustrated, though she was trying hard not to show it. She placed the roses she had just picked into the silk satchel she had sewn specifically for their trip, and quietly made her way over to Daenerys.

 

“Is everything alright, Your Grace?” 

 

Daenerys looked at her, startled, and her cheeks and nose were pink. Sansa could not decide if she was flushed because of the cold or embarrassment, or a mix of the two. “Lady Sansa! I’m, yes, I’m quite alright; the thing is, I just seem to be a bit hopeless, as I cannot figure out how to pick a rose without crushing some of the petals in the process.” 

 

Sasna smiled and crouched down next to her, and placed her hands over the other Queen’s, another uncharacteristic show of manners, or the lack thereof. “Here, place your thumb and forefinger on the stem, low to the ground, and keep your wrist down as well; imagine you were holding a quill.” 

 

With a slight tug the rose came loose, not a single petal crushed. The two Queens hovered there, hands intertwined on the stem, and smiled at each other. Sansa appeared to remember herself after a moment, letting go off the rose and Daenerys’ hand to stand and smooth her hands down her skirts. 

 

Daenerys stood as well, and offered Sansa another shy smile. “Thank you, Lady Sansa.” 

 

“Of course, Your Grace, it is no trouble at all.”

 

Sansa returned to where she was carefully picking roses, and thought of her hand, and how she could feel the warmth of the other Queen’s even through both of their gloves. It was not an unpleasant thought, nor feeling, but it was a foreign one. 

 

*

 

By the time the three women returned to the castle, the summer sun was beginning to set. Sansa was tired and hungry, but not unhappy. Sansa and Daenerys walked to her solar side by side, Brienne following closely behind. The silence between the two Queens was not an uncomfortable one, as it had been in the past. Something had changed between them today, though Sansa was not sure what. 

 

After they had set their bags of flowers on the small table near the fireplace, Sansa turned to Daenerys.

 

“Would you like to join us for supper in the Great Hall tonight as well, Your Grace?” 

 

Daenerys smiled at her, again; another one of those soft, strange smiles. “I would be delighted, Lady Sansa.”

 

“I apologize for it appears that we are a bit late, though I am sure my siblings will excuse our slight.” She chuckled softly under her breath. “Well, they will certainly excuse  _ your _ being late, though they will surely tease  _ me  _ about it for days.” 

 

Sansa did not feel the need to change, though the hem of her dress was still slightly wet from the snow and her hair slightly disheveled from the riding. There was something about being around the Dragon Queen and her almost boyish, childlike antics at times that made her want to forget about all of her Lady’s courtesies for a while. 

 

*

 

When they arrived in the Great Hall, Jon and Bran and Rickon and Arya smiled; Jon and Bran looked pleased, Rickon just was delighted to see his sister, and Arya looked like a cat that had got the cream.

 

“Hello Aunt, Sister. I trust you found all of the roses you require and then some?” Jon was still smiling softly, an expression on his face Sansa couldn’t quite decipher. 

 

Sansa was opening her mouth to answer when Arya positively crowed, “Ah, so the Queen in the North has decided to grace us with her presence afterall. I feared you had fallen and become buried under the summer snows, sister.” 

 

Daenerys let out a small giggle, while Sansa just narrowed her eyes at her sister. “Careful, Arya, or the flower crown I’m making for Jon might instead make its way to your head.”

 

Jon let out a quiet “hey!”, while Arya just laughed harder, the rest of her siblings and even the Queen in the South joining in. 

 

*

 

After supper, Sansa was sitting with Daenerys and Arya in her solar, weaving the blue winter roses into garlands and wreaths and, much to Arya’s dismay, four crowns. (And if Sansa had plans to weave a fifth and sixth after they all retired to bed, well, that was her business.) 

 

“Queen Daenerys, my cooks are preparing the menu for the coronation feast. Do you have a favorite dish that you would like?”

 

“I am not very picky, Lady Sansa. As long as there is enough wine for Tyrion, it will be a happy event indeed.”

 

This startled a laugh out of Sansa, the first true laugh she had let out around the other Queen since she had arrived in Winterfell a fortnight ago. “It is good to know Lord Tyrion hasn’t changed. I have never seen a man love anything half as much as Tyrion love’s his wine.” 

 

Daenerys laughed as well. “You are quite right about that, Lady Sansa. It is the love affair of the century - they should write songs for it.” 

 

Unbeknownst to the two Queens, Arya sat and continued weaving, smiling a smile so wide it could have been blinding. If they were paying her any mind, of course. 

 


	6. mischief in the godswood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As she walked to the Godswood to meet her siblings, Sansa allowed her mind to wander once more. She thought of all that still needed to be done, of the upcoming coronation, of Jon and his brooding, of Bran and his legs and his boyish refusal to talk of Meera Reed, of Arya and her Needle, of the Queen and her foreign ways, of the Queen and how happy she seemed when she joined them for dinner, of the Queen and what it is going to be like when she goes back South, of the Queen and how long it must take to braid her radiant hair every morn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter, and the next couple, are going to have some switching povs just because so much is going to be happening and i can't see making multiple chapters when they are all dealing w/ the same thing!!! this one starts as sansa's pov but at the very end is dany's!!! i really hope y'all like it, i cried in the middle of a coffee shop while writing it lmao! <3

Sansa, and the rest of her siblings, always seemed to forget that Jon was now - or always was - a Targaryen. It is only when he calls Daenerys “aunt”, or the sun hits him just right in the training yard and she swears she can see flecks of lavender in his dark (Stark) grey eyes, that she is reminded. It only hurts now on the bad days, where she wakes up and has to remind herself of all those she loved who were dead now. 

 

Sansa had surprised herself with how much she cried upon Bran’s revelation. She was just so tired; having been putting every ounce of energy she had into rebuilding Winterfell for several moons, and he was the first of her family to be returned to her and she was just finally beginning to feel that he was as much her big brother as Robb was and then it was taken away from her. 

 

She felt like a petulant child, breaking her fasts alone in her chambers, cooly ignoring all of her siblings, and bursting into tears every time she saw Jon for nearly a fortnight, but she could not help it. She had just felt so cheated, she had finally found something so precious that she had been missing all her life and it was ripped out of her hands without warning. 

 

After days of making herself and everyone around her miserable, she had finally had enough of her own thoughts. In just her dressing gown and bare feet, wearing anger as a shield for her sadness, she stormed into Jon’s chambers, demanding that they speak  _ now _ . He had been sleeping, but she did not have the mind to care about that at the moment. But when he sat up, his curls a halo around his head and said  _ Sansa? _ in only the way he can say it, something inside of her broke. 

 

She had practically flung herself into his arms, sobbing into his neck. 

“Oh, Jon.” She had wailed. “I’m sorry. I am so, so, so sorry. I’m the worst. Please, please, please forgive me.” 

And Jon, her sweet big brother Jon, put his hand under her chin so he could look into her eyes.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” He had said, and him echoing the words he had said upon their reunion had only served to make her cry harder.

“Why are you being so kind to me, when I’ve been nothing but horrible to you? Here I am making this all about me, when surely you are struggling with this even more than I am!” 

 

He smiled at her, one of his rare Jon smiles. “You were always a bit of a brat. So not much has truly changed, has it?” 

 

She had swatted at his arm. “Jon! That is not funny.”

 

“It is a bit, though.” He had said. And then his face fell, and he looked so utterly sad and lost that Sansa had laid down on his bed and pulled him down beside her and said in her sternest voice, “You  _ are _ a Stark to me. You always will be. This hasn’t changed a thing. You are my  _ brother _ , Rhaegar Targaryen be damned.” 

He had begun crying at that, and she began to cry again too. 

“Oh Jon,” she had said. “Jon, Jon, Jon.”

 

The two of them laid there and cried and talked until the fire in his hearth began to die out. Instead of returning to her own chamber’s, as ladylike propriety said she should, she had fallen asleep there instead, clutching Jon’s hand in a vice grip. 

 

Sansa smiled and pulled her long braid over her shoulder. That night was one of her favorite memories, even more precious to her than the first time she saw Jon at Castle Black.

 

*

 

As she walked to the Godswood to meet her siblings, Sansa allowed her mind to wander once more. She thought of all that still needed to be done, of the upcoming coronation, of Jon and his brooding, of Bran and his legs and his boyish refusal to talk of Meera Reed, of Arya and her Needle, of the Queen and her foreign ways, of the Queen and how happy she seemed when she joined them for dinner, of the Queen and what it is going to be like when she goes back South, of the Queen and how long it must take to braid her radiant hair every morn. 

 

When she arrived at the Heart Tree, Bran and Arya were already there. Her headache of a sister looked mischievous, while her little brother just looked resigned. Sansa is not sure what Arya had been talking his ear off about, and she is perfectly happy to keep it that way. 

She sat right down in the snow, no longer caring about getting her gown wet. “No Jon yet?” She asked.

Arya snorted. “Of course not. You’d think after so many pack gatherings at the same exact time, he’d learn to not be late, but no.” She said, dragging out the “o” dramatically.

 

Sansa laughed, Jon’s lateness never ceased to be hilarious to her. Just then, their brother came walking into the Godswood. 

 

“And just what are you three laughing at?” He asked.

 

“Ah, our little  _ Stargaryen  _ deigns to join us.” Arya crowed.

 

Jon sighed as he sat down in between the two of them, having resigned himself long ago to Arya’s new nickname for him.

 

“We were just speaking of your perpetual lateness, Jon.” Bran grinned.

 

Jon groaned, less entertained then the rest of them. “I do try to be on time, things just seem to run away from me.”

 

“It’s alright, Jon.” Arya laughed. “I can imagine being a  _ prince _ is a very busy affair.”

 

“Arya, you seem to be forgetting that you are a  _ princess _ as well.” That seemed to shut Arya up, for the time being.

 

Sansa smiled at her siblings, her heart so full it was almost bursting out of her chest.  _ This is the most important thing in the world _ , she thought to herself.  _ To hell with thrones and crowns.  _

 

“Sansa,” Bran called to her softly, bringing her back to herself. “Are you excited for your coronation?”

 

It was Sansa’s turn to groan. “If by excited you mean ‘ready to be through with’, then yes.”

 

Bran nodded, as he tends to do these days, but Arya seemed affronted by her statement.

  
“Sansa! You have been dreaming of your very own coronation since you were a wee babe.” Arya cried.

 

“Yes, but that was before I realized what an absolute headache actually  _ planning _ a coronation is.” She replied, rubbing her temples for dramatic effect. 

 

“Well, it is a good thing my aunt is here to help you, then.” Sansa did not like Jon’s tone, nor the look him and Arya shared.

 

“Alright, you two,” Sansa sighed. “What are you planning?” 

 

Arya held her hand to her heart. “ _ Your Grace _ , you wound me. I would  _ never _ conspire against my  _ queen _ .” 

 

Bran was at least trying to stifle his chuckles, but Jon was outright laughing. Sansa tried to put on her most ‘regal’ face, playing into the charade. “I thought it would be heaven having all of my siblings returned to me, but now I see that I was wrong. You three are nothing but  _ menaces _ whose only goal in life is to  _ bother me! _ ” 

 

Jon bowed his head solemnly and said, “You are exactly right, my Queen, as always.” Sansa thought that, in that moment, she could truly smack her brother. 

 

“Well then, I guess you will not mind when I tell you I have made three  _ beautiful _ crowns of winter roses for you all to wear at my coronation tomorrow.”

 

While her siblings squawked and shouted after her, Sansa rose and strode away, smiling so wide her cheeks ached.

 

*

 

Dany was stressed, though she was loathe to let Tyrion know he had been right in his assumptions. It is just that Lady Sansa’s coronation is  _ tomorrow _ , and she has no idea what to give her for a gift. Tyrion has told her time and time again that letting Sansa stay here in the North with her family was the greatest gift she could have ever given the other Queen, but Dany feels that she deserves something even  _ more _ . 

 

It is just then that she hears Rhaegal, Viserion, and Drogon roaring in the distance, that an idea strikes her. Dany can’t wait to tell Tyrion; for even if he acts as if he is hardened to the world, she knows he truly has a soft heart, and that he cares for Lady Sansa deeply. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up next: THE CORONATION!!!!
> 
> as always, you can find me on tumblr at queensansa-itn! <3


	7. the coronation pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Now you listen to me, Sansa Stark. You were right, all those years ago. You were born for this. You have more wit, more kindness, than everyone in all of Westeros put together - you always have. Who else could keep Littlefinger on a leash the way you do? The cleverest man in all of Westeros, bested by a girl." Arya smiled at her sister. "Who else could unite the Seven Kingdoms in a way no one has ever seen, but you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhhh it's here!!! i'm so excited!!! i have split this chapter into 2 parts just because it was getting so long but the second part should be up either tonight or tomorrow!!! i hope y'all like it :')
> 
> also, lots of shifting povs this chapter! if any of the shifts are confusing or don't flow nicely please let me know!!

As Arya was hurrying to Sansa's chambers to break her fast, she ran into a stricken-looking Jon.

 

“Arya, there you are! I need your help.”

 

“What is it, Jon? You look terrified.”

 

“I can’t find Sansa anywhere.” Her brother looked about ready to burst into tears.

 

Arya sighed. “I know where she is, Jon, do not worry. I will find her. Go break your fast with Bran in your chambers, and we will meet you there later.” 

 

“Are you sure you do not want me to come with?”

 

“I’m sure, Jon. This is something I have to help her with.” She gently told him.

 

“Very well, little sister. I will see you two in a bit.” 

 

As Jon was walking away, Arya called after him. “Jon! She is okay. She will be. I swear it.”

 

He gave her a relieved nod, which she returned.

 

*

 

Arya found her sister in the little alcove next to the kitchens, where she always used to hide when they were younger, and Septa Mordane would critique her needlework a little too harshly. She sat down next to her, and said softly, "Sans? It's Arya." 

 

The look Sansa gave her was a haunted one, hundreds of ghosts dancing just behind her eyes. “I cannot do it, Arya. I cannot. I do not have what it takes to be Queen. Our people have no love for me.” 

 

Arya was heartbroken to hear her sister sound so discouraged. "Sans, that's crazy talk. The North adores you, almost more so than they did even Father. From the way they speak of you, I was expecting the Northmen to quite literally pluck Jon's tiny arse right out of his King's seat and place you there, whether you liked it or not."

 

Sansa let out a blubbering laugh. “Thank you, Arya, but what if I am not intelligent enough? I am not smart like Robb or Jon.”

 

“Aye, you are not smart like Robb or Jon. You are smart like  _ Sansa _ .” Arya reached out to hold her sister’s face in her hands. “They may be battle commanders, but what do they know of the politics of marriage, or of getting people to work together?”

 

Sansa sniffled and opened her mouth to speak again, but Arya was not done. 

 

"Now you listen to me, Sansa Stark. You were right, all those years ago. You were born for this. You have more wit, more kindness, than everyone in all of Westeros put together - you always have. Who else could keep Littlefinger on a leash the way you do? The cleverest man in all of Westeros, bested by a girl." Arya smiled at her sister. "Who else could unite the Seven Kingdoms in a way no one has ever seen, but you?"

 

“But what of those who still call me a Bolton? Or a traitor to our father? What of those who will never trust me?” Sansa queried.

 

“Fuck them!”

 

“Arya!”

 

“They _do not_ _matter_ , Sansa. You will be the greatest ruler the North has ever known. Fuck what anybody else says. You have always been a true Winter Queen.”

 

Sansa grabbed Arya and held her to her in a vice grip, muffling cries into the side of her head. Arya let out a few tears too, though she would never let her sister know that.

 

"Well," Sansa said, after a minute or two, wiping at her face with the hem of her nightdress. "We must begin. We have so much to do, and so little time."

 

*

 

Sansa was sure she was probably driving the servants crazy at this point. She had become practically obsessed with the minor details of everything, wanting to ensure not even a hair was out of place. 

 

They must have all finally become fed up with her muttering and fluttering about, because one of the younger serving girls, Alysane, asked her softly if she might not be needed elsewhere, on such an important day. Taking the hint, Sansa apologized and smiled, and head off in the direction of the kitchens.

 

*

 

Brienne had looked for her Lady everywhere - or so she had thought. She certainly had not expected to find Sansa in the kitchens, covered in flour and lemon juice, helping to bake lemon cakes for their dessert that evening. 

 

It was almost a full hour past when she should have started getting ready, but Brienne found it hard to burst the bubble that was this moment. Sansa looked so young, so free, that she could do nothing but stand back and watch her  _ enjoy _ . 

 

After several minutes, she gently called to her. “My Lady, I do apologize, but it is time to be getting ready for the coronation.” 

 

Sansa looked like a child who was caught stealing an extra helping of dessert, and Brienne could not stop the grin that stretched and threatened to take up half her face. 

 

“My apologies, Brienne, I must have lost track of time.” She turned to the kitchen staff. “Thank you for letting me bake with you. I will be getting out of your way now.” Sansa laughed and turned to follow her back to where Arya was waiting for them.

 

*

 

Jon was hesitant to knock on his sister's door; she tended to shout at him when she was trying to get ready. He could not wait to speak with her, though, so he resigned himself to her wrath. As Arya opened the door and he began walking in, it was clear from the small smile on Sansa's face that she was not going to be cross with him for interrupting her (this time). 

 

Their little sister must have sensed that he wanted a moment alone with Sansa because Arya smiled softly and said, "I will be back. I need more hairpins." 

 

After the door shut behind her, Jon turned back to Sansa to see her already looking at him. He went and sat next to Sansa by her hearth, and placed his hand on her knee.

 

“I wanted to tell you how proud I am of you. It should have been you from the very beginning. I’m sorry it wasn’t.” He found himself getting choked up, but he did not care, not anymore.

 

“Oh hush, Jon.” Sansa let out a watery laugh. “Don’t be silly. There is nothing to be sorry for.”

 

“Regardless, I  _ am _ sorry.” Jon smiled. “Robb would be so proud of you, Sansa.”

 

“You’re going to make me cry if you don’t stop it right this instant, Jon Snow. I cannot have a puffy face at my coronation.”

 

Jon couldn’t help but laugh. “That is why you’re going to be such a good queen. You’re so gods damned  _ bossy _ .” 

 

Sansa scoffed. “I may be bossy, but you love me anyway.”

 

“Aye, that I do.” Jon stood and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, just as Arya came walking back into the room.

 

“Right,” she said. “Are we done with the mushiness, now?” 

 

“Yes,  _ Princess Arya _ , I’m just leaving.” Jon ruffled his sister’s hair as he passed.

 

“Hey!” 

 

*

 

Sansa smiled with glee, sensing the perfect opportunity to present Arya with the flower crown she had made her. “Oh, do not fret about your hair, sister. This will cover it up.” 

 

To Sansa’s surprise, Arya let her place the crown on her head without much fuss, though she was wary of the mischievous glint in her eye.

 

“I am surprised you are not fighting me on wearing this, Arya.” Sansa ventured.

 

“I have no problem wearing it… as long as you swear to me to dance with Queen Daenerys tonight.” Arya looked like the cat who got the cream.

 

"I do not understand why this strange request, but fine. You have my word. I will dance with the Queen." How Sansa would go about that, she had no clue, but she knew she would have to follow through on her promise somehow. "Now will you please help me finish my hair? We are running out of time, and I can't very well be late for my own coronation."

 

After several more minutes of Arya grunting and stabbing Sansa in the head with hairpins, she stepped back to admire her handiwork. “There,” she said, with a note of finality. “You can look now.”

 

Sansa stood and stepped to her mirror and gasped. “Arya…” she said, reverently. “I look beautiful.” She could not quite believe her eyes. Her hair was running like water up and around the spokes on her crown, making it look as if the bronze circlet she had forged to match the old Kings of Winter (as near as she could remember, anyway) was growing out of her very skull.

 

“Aye, sister. You do. You look positively  _ fierce,  _ as well. Like a true she-wolf.” 

 

*

 

Bran’s heart leapt as he wheeled around the corner and saw his sister. She looked regal.

 

“Sansa.”

 

She turned to him and smiled. "Bran!" 

 

He smiled, too. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Nervous. Scared. Terrified. Like I want to run back to my chambers and bury myself under all of my furs.” 

 

“You will be fine, Sansa. More than fine. You will be perfect.” 

 

"Do you think so?" She asked, sounding ten and three again.

 

“I do not just think so, sister. I know it. I have  _ seen it _ . You were always meant to be Queen in the North.” Even before the last word was out of his mouth, he was engulfed in red hair and white fur from her dress.

 

“Thank you, Bran. I love you.” 

 

“Don’t cry, Sansa. It is alright. I love you too.” 

 

“It is just that I wish Mother were here, and Father and Robb and Rickon.”

 

“They are here; their hearts and souls are with us, always. They would be so, so, so proud of you.”

 

She stood back up, and gave him another small smile, wiping daintily under her eyes. "Here goes nothing, I suppose.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, you can find me on tumblr at queensansa-itn! <3


	8. the coronation pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa looked unearthly atop her wooden throne, a bronze crown woven through her braids. Dany was sure she had never seen anyone or anything even half as beautiful, not even at the exotic Bazaars in Essos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh it's here!!! i'm sorry for the wait, i wanted to make this perfect and after rewriting it three times i finally am happy with it!!! i hope y'all like it <3
> 
> also after the botb instead of siccing the dogs on him sansa threw ramsay in the winterfell dungeons to rot for a good while for plotty reasons

Sansa looked unearthly atop her wooden throne, a bronze crown woven through her braids. Dany was sure she had never seen anyone or anything even half as beautiful, not even at the exotic Bazaars in Essos. 

 

Jon stood from his seat to walk directly in front of where Sansa was sitting, and a look of trepidation seemed to pass over Sansa's face, gone as quickly as it came. It was not fear, per se, but more of an  _ oh Gods, please do not embarrass me in front of my people _ look.

 

"Here in the North, we know no Queen but the Queen in the North whose name is Stark. My sister cousin, Sansa. There is no one more deserving or capable. She has saved me more times than I can count. The North could not be in better hands." Her nephew unsheathed his sword and kneeled. "My sword is hers; from this day until my last day. The Queen in the North!"

 

The next person to come forth was Arya, Sansa's deadly little sister shadow. "My sword is yours, sister. It always has been and always will be. I will never let harm befall you." The ‘again' was left unsaid. "Long live the Queen in the North!"

 

Next to kneel before her was Sansa's sworn shield, the Lady Knight, Brienne of Tarth. "My Queen, I have not always been at your back, which I will always regret. But I swear to you, I will be at your back forevermore, until my dying day." The tall, golden woman sounded as if she were about to cry. "You are my  _ Queen _ . The Queen in the North." The look the two of them shared held more than words could ever express.

 

As Dany walked forward to pledge her loyalty to her sister Queen, as is the way of the North, she noticed she did not have it in her to feel insulted at what she would have said was treasonous speech only a handful of moons ago. Sansa looked so elated, and there was so much love radiating about the room; what did it matter that the Northerners were inadvertently renouncing her claim as Queen in the South? Sansa deserves this unwavering, singular devotion. She could worry about it later.

 

"Your Grace, you have my word that we will rule in peace, as sister Queens. I will never raise my armies against yours, as I trust you will never raise yours against mine." Daenerys is not sure what came over her - maybe it was the unshed tears shining in Sansa's eyes, or the way her face was glowing - but she, too, kneeled. She made sure to keep eye contact with Sansa, wanting her to see this vulnerable show of support, of admiration. "The Queen in the North!"

 

As Sansa held her gaze, Dany was surprised out of her revelry as the Northerners picked up her shout, chanting "The Queen in the North!" so loudly that she was sure the tables were shaking and mugs of ale were to start spilling soon. She paid that no mind, though, because the smile Sansa gave her as she joined in the shouting was brighter than any sunrise.

 

*

 

It seemed like millenniums had passed before Dany could finally get the newly crowned Queen alone for longer than a breath.

 

"My Queen, may I speak to you for a moment?"

 

Sansa gave her another blinding smile. "Of course, Queen Daenerys. You don't have to ask."

Dany felt like she could be sick for how her stomach was fluttering, but she took a deep breath and tried not to let her voice give her away. "Queen Sansa Stark, I have no sword to swear to you… but I do have dragons." Sansa quirked one perfect eyebrow at that as if to say  _ I'm intrigued, keep going _ . "Anyone who has harmed you, or ever tries to harm you, you have my word that - only if you wish - my children and I shall burn them." 

 

Sansa reached out to clutch Dany's hand. "Thank you, Your Grace. Thank you." 

 

Daenerys squeezed Sansa's hand and felt that this moment was far more rewarding than any throne could ever be.

 

As Dany was getting up to mingle throughout the room, Sansa's face lit up even more. "Oh, my Queen, I have something for you."

 

Daenerys was perplexed. "For me? It is your coronation, Your Grace."

 

"I know, but I could not resist. I love to make these; I used to make one for every occasion when I was a girl." She held a flower crown out to her. "You don't have to wear it if you do not want to."

 

Dany smiled and placed the crown on her head. "I would be delighted to wear it. I thank you, Queen Sansa." 

 

Sansa smiled and nodded to her, and Dany turned and made her way through the crowd to dance with some high Lord or other, the crown nestled in her many braids.

 

*

 

Sansa's could feel the flush on her face and was sure everyone could see how her face matched her hair, but she did not mind. She was overjoyed. She had a loyal kingdom at her back, a fierce Queen at her side, and a few cups of Dornish red in her belly. 

 

She was thinking about the Dragon Queen's promise and had resolved to speak with her before the night was through about who she would like burned when Jon approached. 

 

"Jon!" She cried. "I am so happy to see you. I have something for you." Sansa reached behind her chair and turned back to Jon, holding the crown she had made for him. 

 

He groaned. "Sans, are you serious?" 

 

She just laughed. "I am Queen now, Jon. This is my coronation. I shall get what I want."

 

Her brother continued to grumble, but he bowed his head so she could place the flower crown atop his curls. "I don't suppose you're going to make me dance with you as well?"

 

"Oh, that is a  _ splendid  _ idea, Jon." Sansa jumped up from her seat to grab his hands and pull him toward where most of the men and women were already dancing. "Come on, big brother, dance with your Queen!"

 

*

 

Jon's heart was positively singing to see Sansa so free, so happy, and so young. 

 

"How are you feeling, Your Grace?" He asked.

 

"Oh, hush. Don't call me that." She pursed her lips. "I am… good. More than good, truly." 

 

"Good." He smiled at her. "You deserve this."

 

"Thank you, Jon." He gave her a little twirl, made slightly difficult given she has grown to be taller than him. "And you are sure you do not mind?"

 

"Mind what, Sansa?" 

 

"That you are no longer King in the North."

 

He just laughed. "I never wanted to be King. I just wanted you to be safe."

 

"Jon…" Her eyes were shining with tears. "I am so happy." 

 

"Me too, sister. More than I've ever been. I haven't even found the time to brood, lately."

 

Sansa threw her head back and laughed, most likely remembering how he had a near-permanent pout throughout most of the heavy repairs on the castle.

 

"You should go dance with my aunt." He murmured. "A visual representation of the unity between the North and the South." 

 

"I do not know what it is with you and Arya and wanting me to dance with Daenerys," his sister sounded perplexed and amused, at the same time. "But I will. I was planning on it, actually."

 

Sansa disentangled herself from his arms and flashed him a beatific smile as she turned to hunt down his aunt. 

 

*

 

Daenerys was talking to Tyrion when she found her.

 

"Excuse me, my Queen, my Lord." She nodded at both of them.

 

"Sansa!" Tyrion sounded as if he was already well into his cups. "What a lovely surprise. We were just talking about you."

 

The other Queen shot him a look. "What Tyrion means to say, is that we were speaking of how well you are going to rule the North." She smiled softly at Sansa.

Her whole face felt warm, and she knew it was not all because of the wine. "Thank you, Your Grace."

 

"You can call me Daenerys if you'd like. I would like us not to be just co-rulers, but good friends as well." 

 

"I would like that… Daenerys. But you must call me Sansa."

 

"Of course, Sansa." 

 

Tyrion looked back and forth between the two of them, and then said, "Well, if my two Queens would forgive me, I must find more of this wine."

 

Her and Daenerys laughed. "Of course, Tyrion," she said. "Enjoy your wine, my friend."

 

After Tyrion walked away, Sansa turned back to Daenerys. "I was wondering if you would like to dance with me, Queen Daenerys?" 

 

Daenerys beamed at her. "It would be my pleasure, Queen Sansa." She held her hand out to her, and Sansa grasped it. "Lead the way." 

 

*

 

They had been dancing together for three or four songs now, Sansa had lost count. She had not expected Daenerys to be so humorous. Her throat and belly were aching from laughing so hard. 

 

"And then, after attempts to make him laugh did not work, Tyrion splashed him with his wine!"

 

Sansa gasped. "What did Grey Worm do?"

"He took the goblet from Tyrion's hands and splashed  _ him _ !"

 

Sansa let go of Daenerys' hand to clutch her stomach. "If that is how your court is run," she could barely speak through her giggles, "then perhaps I should abandon my frigid North for your wine-fighting ways of the South!"

 

Something in Daenerys' eyes softened at her words. "I hope you know you are always welcome at my court, Sansa."

 

"I thank you, Daenerys, but I am not sure I will be returning to King's Landing anytime soon, jokes aside. I apologize."

 

Daenerys grabbed her hand she had let fall to her side. "There is nothing to apologize for." There was fire in her eyes. "Terrible things happened to you there. I would not want to return, either."

 

Sansa felt like she was going to cry, for the umpteenth time that evening. "I would like to return one day. I imagine King's Landing is a much different place, a kinder place, under your rule." She smiled. "And you are always welcome in the North, whenever you please."

 

Daenerys winked at her. "With how unruly my small council is, I might get so weary of them that I will come back to Winterfell and stay here forever. Let the wine-splashers run my kingdom to the ground… or should I say, drown it." 

 

They both laughed, and Sansa used Daenerys' happiness like a buoy to her nerves, for what she was about to ask.

 

"Daenerys, I have been thinking… about what you said earlier. About, about burning someone for me." The other Queen nodded at her, and she took a deep breath. "I think I know who I would like burned. First, anyway."

 

This time Daenerys' smile was fierce and sharp: she looked every inch the Dragon Queen. "Of course, Sansa. Just say when."

 

"I… Is tomorrow too soon?" She queried.

 

"Not at all. First thing tomorrow morn, after we break our fasts. Who? If you do not mind me asking."

 

"I do not mind you asking, Daenerys. Thank you." She closed her eyes, briefly. "Ramsay Bolton." 

 

Daenerys' grip on her hands tightened. "I do not know of everything, but I have heard whispers of his sadism and cruelty. If it were not for this extravagant party, I would say we should drag that monster from your dungeons and burn him tonight."

 

Sansa did let a few tears fall, at that. "Thank you, Daenerys. For everything." 

 

"You are welcome, Sansa." Her eyes were shining now as well. "You deserve it."

 

*

 

From where Tyrion sat, he had a clear view of the two Queens. They both looked happier than he had seen either of them… well, ever. He raised his cup to the two of them and sent a silent prayer to whichever Gods would listen to let them continue to find happiness with one another. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, you can find me on tumblr at queensansa-itn! <3


	9. fire and blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her back is starting to ache from holding herself so rigid when Jon and Brienne enter the courtyard, nearly dragging Ramsay between the two of them. Her brother’s face is hard as stone as he ties the Bolton Bastard to the wooden and pallet and pole they had built special for this occasion. Ramsay must say something monstrous to Brienne, because her hand twitches to her longsword sheathed at her hip before she can stop herself. Sansa’s heart is aching. There is no going back now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD I AM SO SORRY I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S BEEN 2 MONTHS!!! life has been absolutely bonkers lately but I've missed this story and my girls so much (and of course YOU, my dear, sweet readers!!) please accept this ~2,500 word chapter as a peace offering my loves

The Queen in the North woke the next morning with excitement, anticipation, fear, and - most of all - grim determination, simmering in her veins. She lay there in bed, staring at the ceiling, and reflected on the past year or so and the long, hard road home. So much was lost, but so much was gained as well. The new things do not replace the old things, nor do they cover the hurts, but they help. Her family returned to her, the safety of her people, her friendship with Daenerys - all fill holes in her heart she thought would remain empty forever. 

 

Sansa is shaken out of her revery when she hears a soft knock on the door. Feeling brave, she calls “come in!” without even inquiring who’s there. She sits straight up in bed when she hears Daenerys say, good-natured, “good morning, Sansa”.  _ So much for being brave _ , Sansa thinks to herself, as hints of embarrassment begin to work their way into the forefront of her mind. 

 

Sansa is sure she is as red as a beet when she meets Daenerys’ amused look. “I am so sorry, Daenerys.” Sansa lets out a nervous little laugh. “First day as Queen and already I’ve thrown decorum to the wind.”

 

Daenerys laughs, full and twinkly. “There is no need for apologies, Sansa. Queenly decorum is not needed amongst friends.” 

 

She smiles playfully at Daenerys, “Well, if you insist.” 

 

“I do.”

 

Sansa smiles again, content and happy; it feels so sweet to jest like a girl again. She’s not sure where the thought came from, but it has seized her and won’t let her go, and so she turns to Daenerys almost against her will and asks, tentatively, “Daenerys, I… Would you mind braiding my hair? Like yours?” 

 

Sansa is worried she might upset Daenerys as she remembers just exactly what a Khaleesi’s braids mean and begins mentally whacking herself in the forehead, repeatedly, but her friend just smiles wider, positively beaming now. 

 

“It would be my honor, Sansa.”

 

“Oh, wonderful. Thank you, Daenerys. It is just - I know what your braids mean to you, and I did not mean to be presumptuous, it is just that I could use some of your strength today.”

 

Daenerys’ smile falls, but her eyes remain soft. “You may always borrow my strength, Sansa, though you should know, you do not need it. You are stronger than my entire Khalasar combined.” 

 

Sansa ducks her head, unwilling to let herself accept such praise. “Thank you, Daenerys. Thank you.” She takes a deep breath, and looks back up. “Shall I have some bread and fruit sent to my solar, so we may break our fast together?”

 

Daenerys looks as if she would like to say more, but she seems to get the hint that Sansa is uncomfortable talking of such things, and lets it go - for now. “That would be lovely, Sansa.” 

 

*

 

Sansa is not sure how much time has passed, but the sun is high in the sky and Daenerys is still in battle with her hair. Mortified doesn’t even begin to cover the depth of her embarrassment; if only Mother could see her now, close to tears because of an unruly lock of copper on the morning of an  _ execution _ . 

 

“My apologies, Daenerys, my hair is never this coarse.” 

 

Daenerys is red in the face, from exertion or frustration Sansa isn’t quite sure, but her grin still meets her eyes. “Nonsense, Sansa. It is I who chose one of the most difficult hairstyles known to womankind.” 

 

“We can leave it down, if you think it would be easier.” Sansa offers.

 

“There is no need.” Daenerys takes a pin from her own head and, finally, Sansa’s final braid stays wrapped in place. “There we go!” 

 

Sansa turns to face Daenerys and holds a smaller looking glass up, to peak at the back of her head. “Oh, my.” She breathes. “It’s  _ beautiful _ .” 

 

The bottom of her hair is falling in ringlets down across her shoulders and back, a waterfall of crimson, while the top is held in place in an intricate maze of braids that meet in a bun at the back of her skull - the very braids themselves radiating power. Her Winter Crown is nestled snugly amongst the braids, looking for all intents and purposes as if it has grown out of her very scalp.

 

Daenerys gives her a watery smile, and says in a soft voice, barely above a whisper; “ _ You _ are beautiful, Queen Sansa. Do not ever forget it.”

 

Sansa gathers the smaller Queen in a hug, as much to show her gratitude as to hide her face. “Thank you, Queen Daenerys. For everything. I do not know how I could ever possibly repay you.”

 

Daenerys squeezes her a bit and says, “Your friendship is more than enough, Sansa. I feared my trip North would be terribly lonely, and now I near never want to leave.” 

 

Sansa pulls back to look Daenerys in the eyes. “You are always welcome in my castle, my  _ home _ , Daenerys. Please know. Your friendship means as much to me as your co-rulership.”

 

Daenerys is opening her mouth to respond, when Arya comes bursting through Sansa’s solar door. Sansa drops her hands from where she was clutching Daenerys and turns to face her little sister, and the smug look on her face.

 

“My apologies for interrupting, my Queens, but I, and much of the castle, am growing quite restless. We are all more than ready to see the last of the Bolton filth removed from the world.” 

 

Sansa fills with warmth at Arya’s words, reassured of her peoples’ support, but it is not enough to completely blot out her annoyance. She sighs. “Very well, Arya, but you could have knocked.”

 

Arya looks, impossibly, even more smug. “I did. A half dozen times.” 

 

Sansa feels her face heat, and takes a small step away from Daenerys, though she isn’t entirely sure why, or what, she has to feel embarrassed for. “Well then.” She looks to Daenerys. “Shall we?”

 

Daenerys smiles at her, then at Arya. “Gladly.”

 

*

 

Her back is starting to ache from holding herself so rigid when Jon and Brienne enter the courtyard, nearly dragging Ramsay between the two of them. Her brother’s face is hard as stone as he ties the Bolton Bastard to the wooden and pallet and pole they had built special for this occasion. Ramsay must say something monstrous to Brienne, because her hand twitches to her longsword sheathed at her hip before she can stop herself. Sansa’s heart is aching. There is no going back now.

 

“My father, Ned Stark, always said the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.” Sansa looks out at the crowd of her people, and gathers strength from the faces of the women she sees staring back at her. “But I am no man.” A quiet murmur ripples through the crowd, but she pays it no mind, making sure her voice rings out loud and true into the spring air. “Daenerys of House Targaryen, our Queen of the Six Kingdoms, has offered something much more grisly; which I, as your Queen in the North, feel is quite fitting - the punishment fits the crime.” Drogon lets out a loud roar behind her, his brothers echoing him, and the ground beneath her feet rumbles, and her people do not even attempt to keep the terror from their faces. “Please, do not be frightened! The Queen’s dragons will not harm you! They are on our side.” 

 

Sansa walks toward Ramsay with her head held high, the early afternoon sun shining on her crown, and leans down slightly as to hear him better. It makes her sick, being this close to such a monster again, but it is her duty as Queen and executioner, and she cannot shirk it. 

 

“I would hear your last words, Lord Bolton. If you would.” Sansa slides her eyes to her left to meet Arya’s gaze briefly and takes a surreptitious breath.

 

Ramsay’s voice is like swords on gravel, inhuman almost. “I will miss you, my beautiful bride.” 

 

Sansa takes a step back as he smiles at her, teeth rotten and dark with old blood, then another and another until she is standing at Daenerys’ side once more. She feels as if her knees are going to give out as she whispers, “ _ now _ ”.

 

“ _ Dracarys _ .” Daenerys reaches out and softly grasps her forearm, out of sight from the crowd, and whispers, “are you alright?”

 

As three bursts of flame engulf Ramsay and his screams pierce the air Sansa cannot help but smile. “I am now.” 

 

Arya begins to laugh behind her, quietly at first, and then louder as their staff begins dumping bucket upon bucket of water on Ramsay’s charred corpse, to stop the flames from spreading any further. Sansa turns to look at her sister, a quiet reprimand on her tongue, but cannot find it in herself to scold her when she sees the water in her eyes. “ _ The pack survives _ ”, she mouths, and Arya smirks and nods to both of their brothers, who both look equal parts shocked and satisfied. Sansa meets both of their eyes and then turns back to her people.

 

“Friends, please join us for dinner tonight in Winterfell’s Great Hall. I am afraid it will be no feast, but there will be dancing, and ale, and good fortune.”

 

As the group that had gathered slowly begin their way back to the castle, or wherever they feel the must be at the moment, Daenerys tugs lightly on her arm, to get Sansa to face her.

 

“You were amazing, Queen Sansa. Just amazing.”

 

“I could not have done it without you, Queen Daenerys, or your children. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.” 

 

Daenerys flashes her teeth, briefly. This is no kind smile. “It was my pleasure.”

 

“If you would please excuse me for the afternoon, Daenerys, I feel I must take a walk in the Godswood.” She smiles at her friend and then turns to Brienne, who gives her the brightest smile she has ever seen. “Brienne, please, take the afternoon off. I will be fine. The threat is, at long last, gone. I feel the need to be alone with my thoughts right now. I will see you this evening.” 

 

Brienne’s smile falters, but only slightly. “Of course, my Queen. I will see you for dinner.” 

 

The rest of their party departs, but not before Tyrion calls out a very hearty “The Queen in the North!”, that is quickly picked up by her siblings, Daenerys, Brienne, and the staff who are still tending to the clean up of the execution. 

 

She gives them all her most Queenly smile, and then sets off for the Godswood. 

 

*

 

“Mother, Father, if you are listening…” Sansa leans her forehead against the old Weirwood tree. “I have done it. Eradicated the last of those who tore our family apart.” She lets out a watery chuckle as a breeze cuts through the Godswood, ruffling all of the leaves and branches. “I would hope you are proud of me. I… I am proud of me.” Sansa falls to her knees, the weight of what she has done at last hitting her. 

 

She is not sure how long she kneels there, but the Spring snow has begun soaking through her thick wool dress when Daenerys comes running in, disturbing the peace. Sansa is not upset, though, first filled with joy at her friend’s presence and then filled with dread when she sees the look on her face. Daenerys kneels down next to Sansa and just stares at her, mouth opening and closing, but no sound coming out.

 

“Daenerys, Daenerys, what is it? What has happened?” Sansa reaches out to clutch Daenerys’ hands in her own. 

 

“I…” Daenerys takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I have to go back South.” 

 

Sansa’s heart drops, and she is sure her face is now an echo of the other woman’s. “What is wrong? What has happened?” 

 

Daenerys squeezes her hands back, warm even without gloves. “I thought we’d have more time.” She says, quietly. “I am not ready to return.” 

 

“Why must you?” Sansa queries, just as quietly.

 

“I’ve just received a raven from Missandei, in King’s Landing. My right-hand woman. There’s… My advisors are not one hundred percent certain, but they are thinking that it is a small band of Lannister loyalists. Where they were hiding, we do not know. But they are marching on the capital as we speak. I must go, at once. I will fly Drogon, and the rest of my party will follow behind me on their horses.” Daenerys sighs and pulls her hands from Sansa’s to stand and pace back and forth. 

 

Sansa stands as well. “Oh, Daenerys… I am so, so sorry. What can the North do to help? What can  _ I  _ do to help?”

 

Daenerys looks younger than she has ever seen her. “Nothing." She sighs and turns away from Sansa again. “I cannot believe this has happened. I… I feel so  _ guilty _ .”

 

“Daenerys,  _ no _ , why do you feel guilty? This is not your fault! How could you have foreseen this?” Sansa is bewildered at how Daenerys, the kindest and most just ruler she has ever seen, could be blaming herself for something she has no control over.

 

“I’ve been away from the throne too long. Even in Missandei’s capable hands… my position is still too precarious to have let myself relax as I have.”

 

“You deserve to relax, Daenerys. You have been fighting all your life.” Sansa’s heart is breaking for her friend, and she does not know what to do besides gather her in her arms and hold her tight to her.

 

Daenerys is silent for a time, her small hands shaking where they are resting on Sansa’s back, but when she pulls back, her eyes are dry. “I am so sorry, Sansa.”

 

“Sorry? For what, Daenerys? You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

 

Daenerys gives her a sad smile, one she cannot decipher. “Oh, but I do.”

 

Sansa is confused but resolves to let it go, for now. “The North will fight for you. My armies will help you to defend your throne, your rule.”

 

“Sansa, I cannot ask you for that!”

 

“You are not asking me, Daenerys. I am telling you what I am going to do, to help my fellow queen and my  _ friend _ . They will not get away with this for long, I assure you.”

 

Daenerys lightly touches her elbow. “I am so sorry I cannot stay for the celebration tonight. I wish, more than anything, that I could.” 

 

Sansa does not know what to say, so she nods, but as Daenerys turns and begins walking out of the Godswood she finds herself seized with an unnameable feeling so strong she nearly chokes on it. “Daenerys!”

 

The other Queen looks back over her shoulder at her. “Yes?”

 

“Will you write?” Sansa is aware that she must sound like a little girl, needy and whining, but she does not care at the moment.

 

Daenerys gives her a small, sad smile. “How could I not write, Sansa?” 

 

Sansa smiles back, just as solemn. “Travel safe, Daenerys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i have no idea how to link things on ao3 but sansa's hair is supposed to look like dany's does in season 6 when she names tyrion hand of the queen!!! 
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr @ queensansa-itn!!! <3
> 
> also here's a lil sneak peak of the dany pov chapter that should be up next week (or sooner!):
> 
> Daenerys knew she had been away from her throne for too long, knew that even in Missandei’s capable hands staying so long in the North was too great a risk, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave her newfound partner in this lonely world of queens. How could she do this? She listened to her selfish heart and now there is another war on her peoples’ doorsteps. No amount of Sansa’s reassurances can make her feel better about this.


	10. homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is terrified, if she is being honest with herself. Terrified, and sad, and she misses Sansa and the North and the simplicity of it all already. There, she was not just the foreign invader, the conqueror from Essos, the almighty Queen of Dragons. To Sansa, and Jon and Arya and even Bran, she was just Daenerys. A young woman, who made for excellent banter at the dinner table and just so happened to have a few dragons to call hers. She laughs flatly at the thought, but she isn’t ready for this. After everything, after how hard she fought for the throne, she just does not have the energy for a rebellion so soon. But, as Queen, she has no choice but to walk headfirst into the fray, no matter how messy it may get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello loves! sorry this chapter is so short, i just really needed to get it out there and i'm horrid at writing anything to do with war negotiations so if the small council scene seems awkward and amateur..that's why klajdsfklajf. this is also a bit of a filler chapter i guess, just me trying to situate dany back into king's landing and establish the antagonist!

Daenerys knew she had been away from her throne for too long, knew that even in Missandei’s capable hands staying so long in the North was too great a risk, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave her newfound partner in this lonely world of queens. How could she do this?  She listened to her selfish heart and now there is another war on her peoples’ doorsteps. No amount of Sansa’s reassurances can make her feel better about this.

 

Tyrion advised - nay, close on begged - her to let her children fly on ahead and her to sail from White Harbor with their party where she would be “safer”, but she would not hear it. There just simply is not enough time. She has not even stopped to rest, flying hard throughout the night, picking at the bread Sansa sent with her in a small pack she has tied to her waist. 

 

Dany has been flying for what she is guessing is nearing on two days straight when she can see the outline of Aegon’s Hill just over the horizon. She murmurs softly to Drogon, stroking his great head, urging him as kindly as she can to go  _ faster _ . 

 

She is terrified, if she is being honest with herself. Terrified, and sad, and she misses Sansa and the North and the simplicity of it all already. There, she was not just the foreign invader, the conqueror from Essos, the almighty Queen of Dragons. To Sansa, and Jon and Arya and even Bran, she was just  _ Daenerys _ . A young woman, who made for excellent banter at the dinner table and just so happened to have a few dragons to call hers. She laughs flatly at the thought, but  _ she isn’t ready for this _ . After everything, after how hard she fought for the throne, she just does not have the energy for a rebellion so soon. But, as Queen, she has no choice but to walk headfirst into the fray, no matter how messy it may get. 

 

The moon is high in the sky when at last they land in the ruins of the Dragon Pit, Dany opting to creep silently back to the castle, as a way to gather her wits about her before facing what she is sure is nothing but mayhem. It is a starless night. The thought fills her with a dread she cannot give reason to.

 

*

 

Missandei is slumped over the desk in Dany’s solar when she arrives, but she quickly jumps to her feet to envelope her dear friend in a hug. 

 

“Oh, Dany.” Missandei whispers, “I have missed you so. I am so sorry.”

 

Daenerys pulls back slightly, swiping at her eyes. “I have missed you too, my friend. I am sorry as well, for a great number of things.” 

 

The look in Missandei’s eyes is pure kindness as she leads her by the hand to sit by the fire; not that it is truly cold enough to warrant it, but the sight of the flames is comforting all the same. “Talk to me.”

 

“But the rebellion -” Dany starts to protest.

 

“Can wait. Our Queen must first unburden her heart.” 

 

Daenerys gives the other woman a small, grateful smile as she begins retelling the story of her weeks in the North. 

 

*

 

She has been talking for what must be hours, her voice is hoarse and she can see dawn just beginning to break through her window when Missandei speaks up for the first time since they sat down. 

 

“You love her.” So softly, she says it, but joyful too - like there is not another war on their doorstep and instead they are just two young girls talking about their hearts.

 

Dany doesn’t see the point in denying a truth she has felt breathing down the back of her neck for a fortnight now. “But I cannot.” She finally answers, just as soft, but without a hint of the joy.

 

“And why not?” Missandei seems indignant, as if women fall in love with other women every day. Perhaps they do, Dany reasons, but not when they are Queens.

 

“Because I am Queen of the Six Kingdoms, and she is Queen in the North. Because I am a Targaryen, and she is a Stark. Because… we are both  _ women _ .” She whispers the last part, not in shame, but because it is a harsh truth and it hurts.

 

“So?” Missandei smiles at her. “As Queen, you have the right to marry whomever you choose. Loving another Queen only makes that even easier. Who has the power to tell the most powerful women in all of Westeros “no”?”

 

Dany resolutely squashes the little bird of hope she can feel beginning to flutter in her chest. “But I do not know if she even returns my feelings, or could ever. She has been so badly hurt in the past by cruel imitations of  _ love _ .” She spits the word. “I could never harm her.”

 

“From what you have told me, the love is already there, whether she sees it yet or not.” 

 

Her feelings for Sansa were easier to handle when there was never a chance of them being reciprocated, and there was the cold reality that she would never have the chance to act on them. It is harder now, with Missandei’s soft smile and softer words making her  _ hope _ and  _ want _ . Uncomfortable with how vulnerable she has made herself, even to her closest friend and confidant, she stands and yawns, though she knows she is far too wired to actually sleep.

 

“Well, it is a matter for another day, I suppose. My apologies, Missandei, but I fear I must try to catch some sleep if we have any hope of navigating Court this afternoon.” 

 

Missandei just nods knowingly, and bids her goodnight, and a cheeky good morning. “I will see you in a few hours, Daenerys.” Just before she reaches the door, she turns and says, “we will get through this.” Dany has a feeling she is talking about more than just the small band of Lannister loyalists that are rearing their ugly heads.

 

*

 

Her small council is silent when she walks into the room, but Daenerys can feel the tension in the air, like they were just arguing. She gives them a rueful smile and tries not to worry at the sight of Tyrion’s empty chair.  _ Really _ , she tells herself.  _ Be realistic, Dany. It takes at least a sennight to reach King’s Landing from Winterfell, and that’s when the country isn’t in a state of civil unrest and you are the last living Lannister with any power. _

 

“My apologies for being late, the flight here was harder on me than I had expected.” 

 

Lord Varys is the first to speak up. “A Queen is never late. The rest of us are just simply early.”

 

Daenerys smiles. “Well, either way, I suppose we must get down to business.” She takes a deep breath. “Lord Varys, what have you heard?”

 

Her Master of Whisperers leans toward her conspiratorially, as if they are sharing secrets and not at a small council meeting. It is something she has grown to love about this strange man from Lys. “They are a group of maybe a thousand. Some cousin or other angry that you’ve executed their ‘rightful Queen’.” He says the term with disdain. “He’s managed to garner support, one can assume only by filling pockets.”

 

“Thank you, Lord Varys. Ridiculousness of their motives aside, it is always wise to know who and how many you are dealing with. Please keep me updated on anything you hear, no matter when you hear it.”

 

“Your wish is my command, Your Grace.”

 

“Grey Worm, I would like five hundred Unsullied and Dothraki to patrol the city, helping wherever you can. Keep the small folk calm, and keep them reminded of who their Queen is and of her mercy and kindness.” 

 

Grey Worm nods. “We will not attack first, Queen Daenerys?”

 

“No, we will not. My first duty is to my people, and to protecting them. I am not naive enough to think that every one of the small folk loves me and that there aren’t some who would take up this lost Lannister cause. We must be there in the streets, protecting and helping, before we attack. We must be as strong as we possibly can be. We will wait them out.”

 

Grey Worm nods again, and Dany smiles at him.

 

They continue to talk for hours, exhausting every possible outcome until Dany is so frazzled she could scream. Instead, she calmly dismisses them all for the night and only lets her head fall to the table after she is sure there is no one left in the room. 

 

*

 

She stops by the kitchens on her way back to her chambers and asks if someone could have dinner sent up to her, as she has much business to attend to and does not have time for a proper, sit-down supper. 

 

*

 

Dany must have fallen asleep at the desk in her solar, pouring over notes and missives and ledgers and her letter to Sansa, because when she jerks awake at the sound of a knock at the door, the morning sun is shining on her face and her neck is painfully stiff. She mumbles a quiet “come in!”, rubbing at her eyes and smoothing her hair into place the best she can.

 

“My Queen,” Missandei looks pleased and hopeful, but Dany’s brain is still too fuzzy from sleep to hazard a guess as to why, especially after they spent several hours in heated arguments about how to handle this rebellion. “A raven has just arrived for you… from the North.” At that, Dany is now wide awake.

 

The scroll is held closed with an unmarked seal, but Dany imagines she can smell the Spring snow when she holds the slightly weathered paper close to her face. There are but four words written in elegant script, not even a signature, but she does not need one to know who this raven is from. It reads, in Sansa’s beautiful, flowing hand, simply:  _ Daenerys, I am coming. _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come find me on tumblr @ queensansa-itn <3


	11. love and aid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She walks to Maester Wolkan’s study slowly, taking her time to revel in the utter joy of being home. Even after so many moons, it still feels a novelty at times, or like a sweet dream she is due to wake up from any moment now. But, alas, Winter has come and passed, and she has yet to wake up and find herself back in The Vale, or worse, the Red Keep; so she tells herself to quit being silly with as much force as she can muster. It is hard not to let her mind wander, at times like these.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my lovelies!!! another short chapter, im chomping at the bit to get to Sansa in King's Landing, so this may not be the best but im too impatient and excited not to post it. i hope u like it!!! <3

Sansa did not sleep a wink the night prior, instead staying up all night worrying and drafting letter after letter to Daenerys only to feed the scribbled-on parchments to the fire she had roaring in her hearth. That was how Arya found her, staring out her window, bags under her eyes, biting her nails to the quick. 

 

“Gods, Sansa, you look like  _ shite _ .” Her words may have been blunt, but Sansa could hear concern seeping through her sister’s voice.

 

“Thank you ever so much for your keen observation skills, Arya.” Sansa responded drily, turning to fix her sister with a withering stare - she must not have succeeded as well as she had hoped, because Arya just sighed and came to sit next to her. 

 

“She will be fine, Sansa. Daenerys has fought and won against much worse odds. Hells, she has fought the Lion Bitch  _ herself _ and  _ won _ .” Sansa knew her sister was trying to be reassuring, but she was sleep-deprived and weary and could not keep from snapping.

 

“I am aware, Arya. Don’t you think I feel stupid enough?” 

 

When Arya spoke again, her tone was much softer. “Come on, Sans, you know I don’t think you’re stupid.” She paused and then smirked. “Well, sometimes I do, but not about worrying about the Queen. Of course you’re worried. You care about her.”

 

Sansa puts her head in her hands. “I despise this! This anxiety sitting on my chest, this feeling so completely and utterly helpless.” 

 

“Then why don’t you go to King’s Landing?”

 

Sansa lifts her head and just  _ stares _ . “Are you mad?” 

 

Arya smirks again, and then hops up out of her seat. “Just think about it, my sweet sister. I will have the kitchens send up some bread and fruit for you. Try to rest if you can.”

 

Sansa, slightly shocked but delighted all the same in the change in her sister’s behavior, calls out “thank you, Arya!” but her sister is already gone. Not thinking in her sleep deprivation, Sansa puts her right hand down by her side to rest on Lady’s head, before realizing Lady has not been at her side for years now. 

 

*

 

After a quick nap and a few nibbles of bread, Sansa washes her face and changes her dress and rebraids her hair, trying for some semblance of normalcy even though her limbs feel as if they are filled with sand. Brienne meets her at her door around noon, and the ill-concealed pity on her knight’s face is nearly too much for her to bear.

 

The two of them walk to the Great Hall in silence, but Sansa can feel the tension in the air, hearing without really hearing everything Brienne is itching to say and ask her. She appreciates the effort, even if it is a poor one. 

 

When she arrives and takes her seat in the Weirwood Throne, the look Jon gives her makes Sansa want to scream. _What is everyone on about?_ _Why are you all walking on eggshells around me?_ She wants to demand, but doesn’t, because she is the Queen in the North and she cannot afford the luxury of a silly girlish tantrum.

 

Her second official afternoon as Queen is, quite frankly, a boring one. Either her people are truly that satisfied, or - more likely - nobody wants to air any grievances to the woman who just brutally burned Ramsay Bolton at the stake and smiled whilst doing it. Sansa sighs, world-weary, when after an hour of waiting, Brienne sheepishly informs her that there is no one waiting to speak with her. 

 

“Thank you, Brienne. We will meet for supper in my solar soon. I feel I am too drained for anything but a small, early affair.” Brienne nods solemnly at Sansa, but does not move from her post. While Sansa feels safer now than she has in since before Winter even began, she is touched by the gesture. 

 

As they stand, Jon turns and says “Gods, not even a measly land dispute?” to lighten the somber mood at the exact same time Bran says “Sansa, I must speak to you before supper.” Sansa smiles at both of her brothers, and tells Jon to meet them in her solar in an hour or so, and asks Bran to follow her up there now. 

 

*

 

Sansa’s heart fills with ice at his words.. “Not you too… I - I cannot, Bran, you  _ know _ I cannot. I would if I could but… I vowed to myself I would never go back to that horrid place.”

 

Bran just nods sagely, as if he knew she was going to say that. Hells, he probably did. “It is not the same nest of vipers it once was, Sansa. No harm will befall you there ever again. You know Queen Daenerys would never allow it.” 

 

Sansa mulled her brother’s words over in her brain for a moment. “But why  _ me _ ? Why does she need me? She has her Unsullied, and Dothraki, and Tyrion, and Missandei… what do  _ I _ have to offer that she does not already have?” 

 

“Love.” 

 

Sansa spluttered. “I beg your pardon?”

 

If Bran were the boy he used to be, Sansa knew he would be rolling his eyes at her. “She needs your love, more than anything. That is how she will prevail triumphant.”

 

“I am sure her friends on her Small Council love her just fine. There is nothing I can offer that she does not already have.” Sansa feels small, and silly, and like Bran is saying something that she is missing the point of entirely.

 

“Just  _ go _ , Sansa.” Her brother’s tone brooked no argument. “She needs you.”

 

She was getting tired of this back and forth with no real answers being offered, so Sansa sighed and agreed. “ _ Fine _ . But you and Arya will have to run the castle in my absence. I will be taking Jon with me.” 

 

Bran just smiled.

 

*

 

With Bran staring serenely into the fire, Sansa began drafting a note to Daenerys, to tell her of her impending arrival. Just as before, though, she has no idea what to say and hasn’t made much (or any) progress when Jon, Arya, Brienne, and a member of their kitchen staff all show up at her door; the former two wearing smiles that Sansa doesn’t trust, Brienne looking as stoic as ever, and the nice girl from the kitchens carrying a plate of meat and bread. 

 

Sansa smiles slightly at all four of them. “Thank you for bringing dinner to my solar.”

 

The serving girl, Brealla, Sansa remembers her name is, just flushes and mutters “You are most welcome, Your Grace”, and then gracefully flees the room. 

 

After Brealla is gone and the door shut behind her, Sansa lets her smile fall.

 

“Oh Gods, what is it now?” Arya asks, not unkindly,but with her signature snark Sansa has learned to love as they grow older.

 

“I am going to King’s Landing. To aid Daenerys, should she need my aid.” 

 

Jon and Arya share a smug look, which Sansa  _ really _ does not trust, but Brienne looks terrified.

 

“My Queen, are you sure?” She asks, softly.

 

“I am afraid I have no choice. Daenerys would do the same for me in a heartbeat.” Sansa tries to reassure the Knight.

 

“Yes, Your Grace, but Winterfell does not hold such terrible memories for her as the Red Keep does for you.” 

 

“It is no matter. You and Jon will accompany me. I am afraid we must travel lightly, I do not want to alert the wrong people of my journey and make things more difficult for Daenerys before I even arrive.” Brienne looks like she wants to say more, but Jon places a hand on her elbow, and they both nod. Sansa turns to her sister, who she knows is probably not going to be very happy with her. “Arya, I apologize, but I need you and Bran to run the castle in my stead.” 

 

Arya, to her surprise, just nods and says, “I figured as much when I told you to go, Sans.”

 

Sansa gives her little family, her wolf pack, a grateful smile. 

 

“I cannot thank you all enough.” She sits back down, and gestures for the rest of them to sit as well. “Now, let’s eat, shall we?”

 

*

 

Jon and Bran and Arya and Brienne stayed in her solar for what felt like hours after they finished eating, planning and bickering and planning some more. Finally, once the sun began to set, Sansa sent them away so she could pack, write her note (which she had decided silently would have to be anonymous for safety’s sake), and get some rest before they left just before dawn tomorrow morn.

 

She walks to Maester Wolkan’s study slowly, taking her time to revel in the utter joy of being home. Even after so many moons, it still feels a novelty at times, or like a sweet dream she is due to wake up from any moment now. But, alas, Winter has come and passed, and she has yet to wake up and find herself back in The Vale, or worse, the Red Keep; so she tells herself to quit being silly with as much force as she can muster. It is hard not to let her mind wander, at times like these.

 

Maester Wolkan looks surprised but pleased to see her when he opens his door, and seems to understand - or not want to ask any questions - when she says she would like to send this raven on her own.

 

She gives the kindly Maester a smile, and reads over her simple three words one last time.

 

_ Daenerys, _

_                       I am coming. _

 

Sansa could not risk signing the note, nor even stamping the scroll with the Stark seal before attaching the little piece of paper to the raven’s leg. The raven could be shot down, or worse - who knows whose eyes will read it before it reaches Daenerys. No, she would have to be as vague as possible and hope her friend knows it is her. There is something warm and hopeful in her heart, despite that they are so near to war when in her mind’s eye she can still see the Dead marching on her home. She is not as afraid as she once would have been at the prospect of returning to King’s Landing, her excitement at seeing Daenerys again so soon after she has left blotting out her worry and fear for the time being. Suddenly, she feels wide awake. She bids goodnight to Maester Wolkan, and gives him what she feels is her first real grin of the day.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like you all might like to know that my chapter outline for this chapter was literally just "Worried Sansa in the North. Bran tells her “you must go to her. She needs you.”, in all of his spooky psychic glory."
> 
> come talk to me on tumblr!!! @ queensansa-itn <3


	12. battles and favors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No.” Daenerys’ eyes are kind but her tone is sharp. “You will stay with Sansa, and protect her at whatever cost.” 
> 
> Sansa was touched, but she knew she could not let her friend do this. “Daenerys, you are too kind to me. You need every fighting hand, though, do you not?”
> 
> Daenerys’ gaze is soft and heavy with something Sansa cannot identify. “I need you safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god you guuuuuys i am so sorry i haven't updated since LAST YEAR (hehe). life has just been bonkers and i've had no muse but after that 3 second clip of dany and sansa meeting the gay energies were so strong they reached through the tv and slapped me and i'm BACK BABY! please accept this ~2100 word apology and all of my love. there's a liiiiiitle bit of angst in this baby but rest assured my wives WILL be getting a happy ending!!

They were riding hard for White Harbor, Sansa was sure her thighs would be so chafed by the time they arrived that she’d hardly be able to walk but she paid no mind to the pain - it couldn’t be more insignificant. All that mattered was  _ getting there _ , she couldn’t allow herself to think of anything else besides the most basic of plans or else she would break down and there would be no consoling her. Fear was nipping at her heels but she simply refused to give it the time of day. 

 

She could tell her brother and her knight were worried about her, they kept shooting one another furtive glances when they thought she wasn’t looking, but she couldn’t be bothered to bring it up to them. They had only stopped for a few hours at a time in the last two days, and part of her felt bad for pushing them so callously but the other, more dominant part of her knew they couldn't afford to take their time, not when their boat ride would slow them down so - at least a sennight - and she knew they had all endured much worse. It is times like these she wishes  _ she  _ had dragons of her own to fly, because she is so frustrated by her own inescapable human slowness that she wants to cry, but she grits her teeth against the lump in her throat and presses on.

 

*

 

By the time they arrive at White Harbor their little group is dirty and exhausted, but Sansa can’t bring herself to feel embarrassment, just relief, once they finally board the ship and are led by a young boy, no more than four and ten, to what will serve as their rooms for the next several nights. They are small, which would have bothered the girl Sansa once was, but now all she truly cares about is a bed of a moderate comfort and a door that locks. The bed smells of the sea and sweat and something Sansa can only identify as  _ old _ , and the lock sticks, but it will do. 

 

She stumbles to the bed and falls into it without any of the grace that should befit a Queen, without worrying about waking up in just a few hours to meet with Jon and Brienne and sup on the modest rations they had brought with them. Her last thoughts before she drifts off to sleep are, strangely, of fire. 

 

*

 

The sennight or so they spend sailing is dull and mainly uneventful, aside from Jon getting sick one night, whether from the dinner they had with the crew or from the rough waves, Sansa is not sure, but her brother swears by all the Gods it is the former. Either way, it is the most amusement she has felt since Daenerys left, and Sansa welcomes it.

 

*

 

The first thing she sees are flames, too many to count. Dread takes hold of her as she pulls her horse to a stop, murmuring “I was too late” more to herself than Jon and Brienne. 

 

They must have heard her, though, because her brother places his hand on her shoulder and says, softly, “Don’t think that way, Sans. I’ve seen my aunt walk through fire completely unscathed. Daenerys is not called the Unburnt for nothing.” 

 

Sansa could tell he was trying for levity, and she latched onto it. “You’re right.” She says, firmly, trying to convince herself and push her worry back into its cage. 

 

“Your Grace,” Brienne says. “Follow me… Ser Jaime once told me of a way into the Red Keep where you will not be seen by any prying eyes, even the most keen.” 

 

Sansa does her best to smile at her loyal knight. “Thank you, Brienne. Lead the way.” 

 

*

 

Tyrion meets them at the little door Brienne has brought them too, and Sansa has half a mind to be worried that he had seen them and wonder who else could have as well, but tried her hardest to shake the thought away.

“Lord Tyrion -” she begins, but Tyrion just gives her a soft, knowing smile and says “follow me, Your Grace.” 

 

*

 

Daenerys is standing by the window when they enter her chambers, but quickly turns and runs to embrace Sansa.

 

“Sansa, I cannot believe you’re here.” Her voice sounds hoarse, like she’s been speaking nonstop for days. She probably has been, Sansa muses.

 

Sansa tries to give her friend the bravest smile she can muster. “Of course I’m here, Daenerys. You do not have to do this alone.” 

 

Daenerys grins at her briefly, before turning and addressing the rest of the room.

 

“We are fighting off a band of Lannister loyalists, led by some man who believes himself to be a long lost cousin of Cersei Lannister and sees it as his duty to restore the family name and take back the throne.” 

 

Brienne nods grimly, while Jon pipes up, “I will fight with you, Aunt.” 

 

“No.” Daenerys’ eyes are kind but her tone is sharp. “You will stay with Sansa, and protect her at whatever cost.” 

 

Sansa was touched, but she knew she could not let her friend do this. “Daenerys, you are too kind to me. You need every fighting hand, though, do you not?”

 

Daenerys’ gaze is soft and heavy with something Sansa cannot identify. “I need you  _ safe _ .” 

Sansa smiles, slightly, knowing she will not win this battle. “Thank you, Daenerys.” 

 

Daenerys smiles back at her, then turns again to address their other companions. “Now, shall I have a warm meal sent up to my solar so that we all may sup together tonight?” 

 

*

 

Sansa wakes with a pounding in her head, and immediately regrets her five cups of wine. She had felt lighter upon being with Daenerys again, and it was not hard for her friend nor her brother to goad her into getting well and truly drunk. It takes Sansa a few moments to realize that the pounding is not just in her head, but at the door to her borrowed chambers as well. Fear begins to well up in her chest, until she reasons that if somebody wanted to hurt her, they would have broken the door down by now. 

 

She gingerly clambers out of bed and throws on her dressing robe before opening the door to reveal Daenerys, who rushes into the room the moment the door is open wide enough.

 

“I am sorry, Sansa. I had hoped we would have time to break our fast together, but the Lannister imposter has other ideas.” Her friend lets out a sardonic little laugh.

 

Sansa is startled to realize Daenerys is in breaches and a tunic with her hair pulled back severely and black leather gloves covering her dainty hands. Her friend embraces her, and then instructs her to wait in her own chambers until the battle is done. “ _ Please _ , Sansa. I have already sent Missandei to fetch Jon and Brienne to stay with you.” Sansa feels her heart drop to the pit of her stomach.

 

“You will not be staying with me? You will be  _ fighting _ ?” She can barely get the words out for the knot of anxiety tangled in her throat. 

 

Daenerys smiles serenely at her, but the frantic look in her eyes betrays her false sense of calm. “I have no choice, Sansa. I must.” She says, softly. 

 

“No - I - of course. It is just that I worry for you.” Sansa manages to force out through the growing tightness in her chest. 

 

Daenerys embraces her again. “I worry for you too, Sansa. But have trust in me. I will return safe and sound and we will sit by the fire and stitch together.” 

 

“Do you promise?” Sansa feels foolish and embarrassed, but Daenerys just smiles at her, the first one to meet her eyes.

 

“You have my word. Queen’s honor.” 

 

Sansa giggles, and embraces her dear friend one more time. “I just need to change my dress, and then I will rush to your chambers. I swear.” 

 

Daenerys nods and begins to walk toward the door.

 

“Wait!” Sansa calls out, unsure of what has come over her. “I have something for you. One moment.” Sansa digs through her trunk to find the handkerchief she had been working on the past moon, a wolf and a dragon on a field of blue winter roses. “It is not finished yet, so you had better come back straight away so I can finish the scales on the dragon.” Sansa pats her arm as she finishes tying the cloth around Daenerys’ arm.

 

Daenerys smiles cheekily at her and says, “Queen Sansa, are you giving me your favor?”

 

Sansa smiles back and says with a bravado that belies her anxiety, “I suppose I am, Queen Daenerys. Now go win another war.” 

 

*

 

Sansa has been standing at the window for hours now, straining her eyes to catch a glimpse of Daenerys, but to no avail. 

 

“Sans,  _ please  _ step away from the window. It is not safe for you, and you know Daenerys would have my head if anything happened to you.” Jon pleads with her. 

 

Sansa huffs, feeling petulant and young again in the face of her fear. “I just want to see her, Jon. Just once. Then I will stop worrying.” 

 

“She will be fine, Sansa, she has faced worse odds and made it out the other side victorious.” Her brother tries to reason with her.

 

“Jon is right, Your Grace. I have seen her fight. This measly Lannister army is no match for the Dragon Queen.” Brienne adds. “Now please,  _ step away from the window _ .” 

 

Sansa huffs one more time but complies, knowing that Jon and Brienne are right and she is not doing Daenerys any favors by making herself such a visible target. She sits beside Jon at the table and begins looking over the missives she had brought with her from Winterfell, fear gnawing at her insides. 

 

*

 

Sansa must have fallen asleep over the table at some point, because she is shocked and disoriented and it takes her longer than she would have liked when the door to Daenerys’ chambers bursts open to reach for the dagger hidden in the folds of her dress. Once she can see the intruders more clearly, though, she drops the dagger with a clatter. An unconscious Daenerys is being carried in by Grey Worm and another Unsullied, all of who are covered in copious amounts of blood. Daenerys’ face is unnaturally pale, and Sansa wants to tear apart whoever did this to her. 

 

Jon squeezes her hand once before he rushes out to fetch the maester. 

 

“What happened?!” Sansa demands of Grey Worm, and she knows she sounds hysterical but she could not care less at the moment. 

 

After Grey Worm lowers Daenerys to her bed, he turns to face Sansa. “We won. But an arrow meant for Drogon hit Queen Daenerys instead, went straight through the Queen’s leg. She has lost a lot of blood, she passed out just as we reached the Red Keep. She was asking for you, Queen Sansa of Winterfell.” 

 

Sansa sobs, and grips Daenerys’ right hand tightly with both of her own. “Don’t die, Daenerys. Please don’t die. You  _ can’t _ die.” 

 

Just at that moment the maester enters the room and he tries to tell Sansa she has to move, but she just snarls at him and tells him in no uncertain terms to  _ work. around. her. _

 

It seems to take hours, but is truly probably only a handful of minutes, before the maester is done cleaning and dressing the wound on Daenerys’ leg. He stands back, and looks at Sansa. “She should be alright. She has lost a lot of blood, and she needs to rest. Only time will tell, but our Queen is young and strong.” 

 

Sansa bites out “she  _ will  _ be alright!” while Jon thanks the maester as he leaves the room. 

 

“Sansa…” Jon approaches her, hands outstretched like she is a wounded animal, but she snarls at him too. 

 

“Everybody  _ out! _ ” She demands, not caring that she is being harsh. They will forgive her, but Daenerys needs her here right now, and that is all that matters.

 

Her brother backs off, and tells her that he and Brienne will be right outside the door if she were to need anything. Sansa looks at her friend’s ashen face and begins to pray, an old Northern prayer. She kisses Daenerys’ forehead and clutches her hand tighter, trying to will her leg to heal through sheer force of care. 

 

Sansa cannot stop her mind from racing, even as she prays. What would happen to the kingdoms if Daenerys were to die? What would happen to  _ her _ ? Sansa’s heart feels as if it is breaking a hundred times over. “ _ Please _ ,” she begs of whatever Gods may be listening. “Please do not take her from me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, come find me on tumblr @ queensansa-itn! <3


	13. flying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It is a heady feeling, is it not? This power?”
> 
> “Daenerys, I-”
> 
> “Dany. I would have you call me Dany. It has been so long since someone kind has.”
> 
> Sansa felt something flip in her stomach at that, something she hasn’t felt since the days when she dreamed of knights and songs and being wed to a golden prince, not since Maergery Tyrell gave her a rose and called her “sister”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omgggg guysssss i am so excited for this chapter, there’s a scene that literally is what started this whole shebang that i wrote in the middle of the night last MAY!!! im so sorry for my wonky posting schedule, im trying to get on track for the rest of the story and i am planning on releasing a chapter every saturday/sunday (at least - but maybe before, im an impatient gay lkajddlkfjd). i listened to enchanted by taylor swift, pink in the night by mitski, and when the stars go blue by tim mcgraw the entire time while writing this so it’s so mushy and shmoopy...but im not sorry. i hope u enjoy!!! <3

Daenerys continued to sleep for two days and nights, Sansa unwilling to leave her side for more than a handful of minutes the whole time. She had not even brushed her hair or changed her gown. She had eaten little and spoke even less, only speaking to Daenerys when they were alone in her chambers, Brienne and Grey Worm stationed right outside the door to protect their respective queens. She sang Daenerys her favorite lullabies from when she was a girl and told her stories - stories of her childhood, when things were good and her family was whole; and stories of things yet to come, places they would go and things they would do. She vowed to take Daenerys to all of her most treasured spots in Winterfell the next time the Queen in the South comes for a visit, to take her to the crypts and tell her of her loss, to even take her to the broken tower where she lit a candle, what she thought was her last beacon of hope, and how nobody came for her after all, how she became her own knight - if only she would  _ wake up and be alright _ . 

 

As dawn broke on the third day of Daenerys’ slumber, Sansa thought she must be dreaming the warm hand weakly squeezing hers. She had been sleeping in a chair at her friend’s bedside, hunched over and holding Daenerys’ limp hand in her own; she was so tired, and drained, and worried, that she simply squeezed the hand back and buried her face further into the long sheet trailing off the bed. She heard a soft giggle above her, and her head shot up.

 

“Daenerys! You are awake!” Her friend smiled and squeezed her hand again, a bit stronger this time.

 

“I am. That cannot be comfortable, Sansa.” Daenerys teased.

 

Sansa could not help but blush. “It is no matter. How are you feeling? Should I call for the maester?” She began to stand, but Daenerys tugged lightly on her hand.

 

“Not yet, please. Let us not be queens for a few moments longer. Come sit beside me.” Daenerys asked, her voice so soft it was near a whisper.

Sansa carefully climbed into the bed beside Daenerys, taking extra care to make sure to not jostle or cause her any extra harm. They both reach for the other’s hand at the same moment, laughing as they adjust to be more comfortable. 

 

Daenerys turns her head slightly to look at her. “Did we win?”

 

Sansa smiles at her. “Yes, we won.” 

 

“Oh, good.” She is quiet for a few moments. “I had the strangest dream.” 

 

“What did you dream of?” Sansa inquires.

 

“I dreamt… I was you.” 

 

“You dreamt you were  _ me? _ ” 

 

Daenerys nods. “I was you, at only seven name days, playing Knights and Princesses with Robb and Theon Greyjoy.” She smiles, and Sansa’s breath catches in her throat. “I was you, at six ten, reclaiming my home. And there was the most beautiful singing in the air, everywhere.” 

 

Sansa feels her eyes begin to water and blinks to clear away the tears. “I told you stories, so many stories, and I sang as well.” 

 

“Thank you, Sansa. You are a truly remarkable woman.” 

 

“I - thank you, Daenerys. As are you.” 

 

“I find myself growing tired again, though I know I’ve been sleeping for days. Remind me to tell you all the ways.”

“All the ways of what?” Sansa asks, but Daenerys has already fallen asleep.

 

*

 

That is how Jon, Brienne, Grey Worm, Missandei, Tyrion, and the Maester find them a few hours later - clutching hands, Sansa’s head resting atop Daenerys’, both asleep. 

 

*

 

The first thing Sansa notices when she wakes is that she is warm, comfortable, more well-rested than she’s been in months… and something is wrong. She opens her eyes to see Jon’s solemn Stark face looking back at her, trying and failing to bite back a laugh. Then she sees Missandei and Brienne, both with varying degrees of delight on their faces. Tyrion, of course, looks like he knows something the rest of them do not. Grey Worm is his typical stoic self, but there is light in his eyes. The Maester does not look like he cares about anything other than checking on his patient, which is a relief. Sansa does not think she could handle answering  _ his _ questions too - and she knows Jon and Brienne are going to have questions upon questions.

 

She feels herself begin to panic -  _ this is not Queenlike in the slightest oh my gods what am I going to do  _ \- when Daenerys speaks beside her. 

 

“Hello, friends.” She does not sound concerned in the slightest, so Sansa wills herself to relax. They are the Queens of Westeros and they are  _ friends _ , they can do as they please. It is not as if they’ve done anything too far from decorum. 

 

“My Queen, you are awake! How are you feeling?” Missandei asks, rushing to the side of Daenerys Sansa isn’t currently occupying. 

 

“A bit stiff, but I am alright. I find I am hungry.” Daenerys responds.

 

Sansa clambers out of the bed with as much dignity as she can muster as the Maester approaches to redress Daenerys’ wound. 

 

“The wound looks well, Your Grace.” The Maester informs her after a few minutes of poking around her leg. “No infection, and the arrow went clean through. You should make a full recovery in less than a fortnight.”

 

Daenerys’ smiles at him. “Thank you, Grand Maester, for saving my life.” 

 

The old man blushes and stands up and begins making his way out of the room. “I will leave you to speak in private with your advisors, I am sure you have much to discuss. I will come ‘round to check on your leg after supper.” 

 

Jon gives Sansa a look that only a big brother can truly give as everybody begins talking over one another to fill Daenerys in on what she has missed. That is how the next several hours until supper are spent, hashing things out on how to handle the remaining Lannister soldiers who did not perish in the fight, Missandei and Tyrion both writing missives and making note of what their Queen is saying. Sansa sits and listens and does not think she has much to contribute, until Daenerys looks her way and asks - “Sansa, how would you deal with the surviving Lannister loyalists?” 

 

Sansa is shocked at first, but shock quickly gives way into elation and then determination as she switches into what Arya calls her ‘ _ Hard Ass Queen _ ’ mode. 

 

“I would bring them all up from the dungeons during court - when you are feeling up to it, it is best to not exert yourself, Daenerys - and give them the chance to swear fealty to you-”

 

“To us.” Daenerys cuts in, and Sansa feels like the sun in spring. “They must swear fealty to both of us, the Queens in the South and the North.” 

 

“If they choose not to swear fealty to… us, then I am afraid there is no choice but to have them executed. It is harsh, but our reign has just begun. We cannot afford to be lax, or show that we have an affinity for bending rules and pardoning everyone who wrongs us - Westeros will surely dissolve back into chaos quicker than you can blink.”

 

Daenerys looks so proud of her she feels as if she can barely breathe. “Very wise, Sansa. That is exactly what I was thinking. We are not queens to be trifled with.” 

 

Tyrion smirks and murmurs, “oh, certainly not”, and just like that the serious mood that had come over the room is broken as they all laugh. 

 

“The Wolf Queen and the Dragon Queen,” Jon says. “Any man in his right mind should be scared out of his breeches.” 

 

*

 

After they have all eaten supper and are heading back to their chambers for the night, Daenerys looks oddly sad. Sansa hangs back to speak with her, and Brienne waits at the door for her. 

 

“What is wrong, my friend? You look quite sad.” 

 

Daenerys seems to shake herself and gives Sansa a smile. “It is nothing. Promise you will come back and break your fast with me at first light?” 

 

Sansa smiles right back. “Of course. Queen’s Honor.” Daenerys laughs. “Sleep well, Daenerys.”

 

*

 

Sansa woke early, far too early to break her fast. As she watched and waited for the sun to rise higher in the sky, she sat near the window in her borrowed chambers and thought on all that had happened since the last time she was in King’s Landing, this time an honored guest rather than a prisoner in a pretty gold cage. She is not sure how long she sits there, but when she hears a knock on the door the sun is significantly higher in the sky and her face is wet. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she opens the door to Jon - who looks far too chipper for her liking.

 

“Good morning, Sans!” Her brother makes his way into the room without asking, for they’ve far surpassed that level of closeness ages ago, and Sansa shuts the door behind him. 

 

He sits on the edge of the bed, and she sits next to him. “Good morning, Jon. Did you sleep well?” She asks.

 

“Aye, I did. I suppose I do not have to ask how your night fared.” He grins at her.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Sister, I have to ask,” Jon begins, and Sansa inwardly groans. “Is there something more than friendship between you and my aunt?” 

 

“Jon!” Sansa feels herself grow beet red from her neck to her ears and begins braiding her hair to have something to occupy her hands. “I have no idea what you are talking about.” 

 

“Oh? So was it another Queen in the North, another sister of mine named Sansa, who I found  _ cuddling  _ with Daenerys?”

 

She glares at him, but there is no real heat behind it. “Friends can share a bed, Jon. She was doing me a kindness, that’s all, since she felt guilty I had been uncomfortable in that chair.” She ties a purple ribbon at the end of her hair to hold the braid. “Besides, I am a  _ Queen _ , Jon.”

 

He just smiles at her like she’s something small and cute, like one of Tommen’s kittens or a direwolf pup. “Aye, exactly.” 

 

Sansa just huffs and says, “I must meet with Daenerys, now. I promised I would break my fast with her.”

 

He stands up with her. “Would you like me to escort you, my Lady?”

 

“That is quite alright, you menace _. _ You’ve done  _ enough _ .” If she were Arya she would stick her tongue out at her brother, but she meant it when she said that she is a queen, so she refrains - barely. 

 

Jon’s happy laughter follows her the entire walk to her friend’s solar.

  
  


*

 

When Sansa knocks on her door and Daenerys calls out, “come in, Sansa!” in a happy voice, she promptly forgets all about Jon and his teasing. 

 

Daenerys is sitting up in bed when Sansa enters, color in her cheeks and a platter of fruit and bread in her lap. “I thought we could have breakfast in bed, if you’d like?” She asks, and gestures to the spot she had fallen asleep in last night. Sansa’s heart aches, remembering name day breakfasts in mother and father’s chambers, all of her siblings happy and healthy and  _ whole _ , piling onto the furs and fighting over the butter. Daenerys must take her silence as reluctance, not nostalgia, because her voice is softer when she says, “It is alright, Sansa. We deserve a small break from queenly decorum. And I have made sure nobody will be disturbing us for at least two hours.” 

 

Sansa wills her legs to move, and when she smiles at Daenerys she knows it meets her eyes. “I would love to, Daenerys. I haven’t eaten in bed since I was a little girl, and even then mother and father only allowed it on name days.” 

 

As she sits down, Daenerys passes her the platter and says, “Would you tell me more about your childhood? I would love to hear your stories.” 

 

“Of course.” As she butters her bread, Sansa thinks of a story that might amuse her friend. “When I was but three and ten, Cersei Lannister and Robert Baratheon and their retinue came to stay at Winterfell. Of course, all that came after was tragedy after tragedy, but when they first arrived I was so overcome with excitement I nearly fainted. I begged my mother to do my hair in a Southron style, and wore my prettiest dress. I wanted so badly to impress the Queen,” she cannot keep the bitterness out of her voice then, and laughs at herself. “How foolish I was.”

 

“Not foolish. Romantic.” Daenerys interjects, and Sansa smiles gratefully at her.

 

“You are not wrong. My dreams were bigger than anything I could have imagined at that point in time. I had made all of my siblings swear to not do anything to embarrass me, as I just  _ had _ to prove what a little Lady I was. Of course, Arya took that to mean to  _ please _ to do  _ everything  _ she could to embarrass me. That night at the feast we had thrown, the moment Cersei  _ finally _ looked over at me, that is precisely when Arya chose to flick a spoonful of her food directly at my face!” Sansa bursts into laughter, and Daenerys does too.

 

“Oh, that is delightful, Sansa. Not then to your younger self, of course, but now I find it quite amusing.” Daenerys says, between giggles.

“I do as well, though back then I wanted to just lay down and die from embarrassment!” 

 

Daenerys pressed her shoulder to Sansa’s, and says, “The Maester has said I am in well enough shape to go riding, and it would do me well to check on Drogon and survey the damage that has been done to the city. Would you like to accompany me?”

 

Sansa nearly chokes on her grapes. “ _ Me? _ Fly on a  _ dragon _ ?” 

 

“Why not? It can be quite fine, and Drogon would never harm you - he has almost as much affection for you as he does for me.” 

 

“How could you possibly know that?” Sansa asks, incredulous.

 

“Because I am his mother. He cares for all those I care for.” Daenerys grabs her hand. “Please, Sansa. It would mean so much to me to have you with me.”

 

Sansa takes a deep breath. “...Alright. I will fly with you.” 

 

“Wonderful! I will have Missandei find some riding gear for you. Would you help me out of bed?”

 

“Wait, we are going right now?” Sansa feels her anxiety crashing over her like a huge wave, but gets out of the bed and helps Daenerys stand anyway. 

 

“There is no time like the present.” Daenerys says, and she gives her what she has named her  _ special Sansa smile _ \- though she’d never dare tell another soul that she thinks the Dragon Queen has a “special smile” just for  _ her _ . She pushes her anxieties away, and smiles back. 

 

“Let’s do it.” 

 

*

 

Within the hour, Sansa is situated in front of Daenerys on Drogon’s back, clutching the dragon with all of her strength. He is warm, but not too hot. It’s a comfortable heat, like the springs in Winterfell in the Summer. 

 

After what has to have been an hour or more of flying, Daenerys guiding Drogon with little more than a pull or a soft word, she asks Sansa if she would like to try. 

 

“Oh, Daenerys, I don’t know if I can.” She says, sure that she would get them thrown straight to the ground.

 

“Why not?” Daenerys asks, and something hits Sansa -  _ why in the hells not indeed! _

 

Sansa nods once, steeling herself. “Alright. What do I need to do?”

 

Daenerys removes her hands from Drogon’s scales and shows her the right way to hold onto his scales so as not to hurt him, but so that he can feel her direction, resting her hands on Sansa’s waist. 

 

Sansa is shaking, and terrified, but a part of her is thrilled as well. 

 

“It is a heady feeling, is it not? This power?”

 

“Daenerys, I-”

 

“Dany. I would have you call me Dany. It has been so long since someone kind has.”

 

Sansa felt something flip in her stomach at that, something she hasn’t felt since the days when she dreamed of knights and songs and being wed to a golden prince, not since Maergery Tyrell gave her a rose and called her “sister”.

 

“ _ Dany _ .” The name felt strange in her mouth, but Sansa found it was a good kind of strange. “I am afraid.”

 

Daenerys no,  _ Dany _ , just pats her side lightly and holds her tighter. “It is okay, Sansa. I’ve got you. I am right behind you. I swear to you, I will not let you fall.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i did write a cliche Accidental Bed Sharing And We Got Caught By Everybody Oh No scene and what about it! 
> 
> as always, you can find me on tumblr @ queensansa-itn! <3


End file.
